


This Little Girl

by The_Firebird



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: ? - Freeform, Adoption, Angst, BAMF John, BAMF Sherlock, BAMF oc, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kidfic, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Parentlock, Protective John, Protective Parents, Protective Sherlock, a bit of violence, casefic, cute johnlock, just a bit, kind of, mary doesn't exist, mentions of torture, tiny bit of graphic descriptions of injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-06-07 13:17:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 24,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6806428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Firebird/pseuds/The_Firebird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A girl and her father get kidnapped. When Sherlock solves the case, the girl slips between his fingers. Fresh out of a home and raised to be more careful than Mycroft, Sapphire Clark has a thirst for adventure. </p>
<p>--<br/>That sucked, I know. </p>
<p>So, alternatively, The how-to guide for sneaking into Sherlock and John's heart and getting stuck there....shit they did the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Walked Out Without Asking Me To Go

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Know Thyself](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2011287) by [sevenimpossiblethings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenimpossiblethings/pseuds/sevenimpossiblethings). 



****

[Sherlock’s POV]

 

They had been in the kitchen making breakfast when the call came in. Sherlock grabbed his phone and saw the caller ID said ‘ _ Lestrade _ ’.

 

“What do you want, Geoffrey?”

 

_ “It’s Greg. You need to get down to NSY soon. There’s been a kidnapping turned murder and we can’t figure it out. This is bad, Sherlock. There’s a kid involved.” _

 

Sherlock’s breath hitched, kids were always his weak spot. “I’ll be there in five minutes.” 

 

“Sherlock? What is it?”

 

“Murder and kidnapping. There’s a child involved.”

 

“Christ.”

 

“Well, come along. We need to get this over and done with. Breakfast can wait.”

 

“Yeah yeah, coming.”

 

________________________

 

They met Lestrade and Donovan in the former’s office. Though it was a bit cramped, they needed a private area to talk. There had been a video sent to the station showing a small teenager and a man- Matthew Clark, the reporter-, both tied to chairs, and another person offscreen. The unknown one was bargaining for them with a voice modifier on. Telling them if they couldn’t get them 14 thousand pounds by the next Saturday (it was Sunday at the time), then the man dies. 

 

“We were solving the case, the squad got into the warehouse they were supposed to be in, but they were too late. We all thought they ditched the hostages, but then we got this in earlier.”

 

He put a different disk into his computer, this time they were in a slightly smaller room. The girl and the man were chained to the wall and were fairly far apart from each other this time.

 

A masked man came into the shot. With his voice modifier he said; “We told you 14 thousand pounds by yesterday. You didn’t deliver.” He turned and shot the chained man, a blood curling scream of ‘Father!’ tor through the air. “You get one more week or else I shoot the girl too.” The masked man left the screen and the girl started speaking.

 

“G-go to t-the alley between  _ R-richard’s Deli _ a-and  _ M-marley’s Bakery  _ o-on 4th and J street Tuesday e-evening. You n-need to send 14 thousand pounds to save the girl. If you give us the money we will l-let h-er go and you will find her on the corner of the s-street.” The teenager said for the man, looking just beyond the camera as if reading a note card. The screen shut off soon after

 

“You didn’t see it? You idiots really didn’t see it?” At everyone’s incredulous looks he groaned and hit the wall. “You need to learn to  _ observe _ . If you were actually watching instead of standing there then you might have noticed a thing or two. Every few letters she would stutter. Play it back and write it down.”

 

Donovan rewinded the footage to the point where the girl started talking and wrote the letters down.

 

**_G T A R M O E N L H S_ **

 

  
“Well, freak, what does it mean?”

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I don’t know yet. It’s either a name or a place. Get your station monkeys on this. I’ll see what Mycroft can do.”

* * *

 

[Sapphire’s POV]

 

They got jumped in the middle of the night, everyone had just gotten to sleep and no sounds could be heard. The people were already in the house when Sapphire and her father got home from their late night trip to the store. They hid in the closet and waited until everyone was asleep in order to get the jump on the small family. Sapphire knew as soon as she woke up that it had been chloroform. The sickly sweet smell was almost palpable in the room. They were tied different chairs; metal with armrests, so their arms were individually tied, and her father was tied similarly on the opposite side of the room. Only one man came down the stairs and she recognized him immediately; Thomas Greenland. He was the owner of a major corporation that extended all the way to Indonesia. 

_____________________________

Thomas and his accomplice, an unnamed (Thomas called him Ace) temperamental man who would normally storm out of the room whenever they were in one together. Thomas constantly beat up her father until one day they decided to make a video. The video only consisted of a plea and an empty threat. They wouldn’t actually be stupid enough to kill him, would they? If they were, they had something else coming. They moved a few days after that.

They did it. They actually did it. Blood spatter covered the wall and some of the floor and Sapphire struggled as she tried to think of a way to tell whomever was going to be watching the footage a way to convey who exactly was on the other side of the camera. Cue cards came up and a quick scan confirmed all the letters of Thomas’ name were there. The police would have included Sherlock Holmes on this by now, especially when there was a killing involved. She stuttered on every letter that made up Thomas’ name. It probably helped that she had shouted out ‘father’ earlier. Everybody except Sherlock would think she was just traumatized, but Sherlock would catch the pattern.

 

Matthew Clark was a superstitious person. He had raised Sapphire to look at her surroundings and gather all the information within eyesight. He worked as a reporter in London, writing about criminals exclusively. The police loved him (at least more than the other reporters) because he didn’t try to get the first picture, or any pictures. All he asked was for an email to be sent with the information they were willing to give the public. 

  
However, he also knew his job might put him in danger, as it ultimately had in the end. Sapphire had a wad of cash in a pocket of the wall in the only flat she ever lived in which could feed her for three months. She knew the sewer system in and out, had been home schooled and Matthew had taught her how to disappear and to leave him behind. She mourned for him, he would always be her dad -Sapphire was a bit bitter towards her mother, whom had walked out on them soon after giving birth. She knew knew day she’d have to leave him behind, and that day was today, but she also knew what to do after she got out. When she got out, Sapphire Clark was not going to exist.


	2. The Third Degree Just Isn't Working

[Sherlock POV]

 

THOMAS GRENLN was the best match the police got. They also figured out who it was they were working to save. The man that had been shot was Matthew Clark and the girl was Sapphire Clark, his daughter. Sapphire was home schooled and had finished all of her studies at the age of ten. She never had a mother growing up and was exceptionally smart. Universities had sent letters to her and she was now using one of their websites to do college work.

 

Suddenly, Sherlock realized who it was had kidnapped her and felt like an idiot for not noticing it sooner. THOMAS GREENLAND. She couldn’t have gotten the letters that repeated, that would have been too obvious. No, she was counting on someone like Sherlock to figure it out, and he did. She knew there had to be someone clever, someone like her, to save her, in the one instance she couldn’t save herself. He told Lestrade, Donovan and John. They pulled up a map of Thomas Greenland’s factories in London. They excluded the one they’d already searched.

 

“Baby brother, why are you yet again using my resources for your case?” Everyone except Sherlock turned to look at the new voice.

 

“Not now Mycroft. We’re trying to be productive.”

 

“Sherlock, you have half my team looking at some cryptic name and I need to leave for Ireland tomorrow.”

 

“Stop whining, we figured it out. You can have your team back.”

 

“That’s not the point, Sherlock. Come out into the hall and we can talk, this room is much too small.”

 

Sherlock groaned but dutifully followed his brother out. “What is so important that you had to stop me from saving a teenage girl that has been kidnapped? She will be dead by Saturday, that gives us three more days.”

 

“I was just going to ask you to ask me before you use my team.”

 

“I didn’t have time! She is going to be important one day, she is in uni now, and she has a plan for after this. I know it. She’s more clever than we were at her age. If she doesn’t have a family she’ll grow up to be Moriarty. She’s just fourteen, Mycie.” Some people walking by looked at him, they had never heard him call Mycroft that. He payed them no mind, they were idiots anyway. “She deserves to live older than twenty, older than thirty. Last time I got kidnapped you had the entire govern- Are you even listening?”

 

“Yes, now shut up.” Mycroft pressed his phone to his ear after typing a number.  The older Holmes then spoke, telling that something arose and he would not be able to make it to Ireland the following day. “Come on.” He said once he hung up. “We have a girl to save.”

 

**\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

[Sapphire’s POV]

 

It was getting close to the day. If Sherlock didn’t find her soon, she would end up dead. Sapphire didn’t have a problem with death, she wasn’t afraid. She didn’t  _ want  _ to die, though.

 

Ace and Thomas came through the door and threw a bottle of water and a package of crackers at her feet. She glared defiantly at them but all that earned was a slap.

 

Perfume. The stench was everywhere on Ace. He’d recently either developed a habit of wearing perfume or been with a girl. Both choices made for a fairly safe bet of getting a bobby pin. Quickly, she kicked at his feet. She got slapped again, but she had done what she wanted. She had a bobby pin.

 

**_______________________**

 

She never had to use it, though. Sapphire heard a thumping upstairs, then a crash. Her two idiot captors came running in right after. They uncuffed her from the wall and packed up like they had the first time they moved. The police were here. Sherlock was in the back, barely visible. The police moved into the room. Ace started to pull a gun from his pants but was quickly shot down.

 

Thomas grabbed the teenager and used her like a shield with only his head poking out over her shoulder. All the officers yelled at him to put Sapphire down, that is until a;

 

“Christ, he’s not going to do it. Just-” 

 

The deafening sound of a gunshot and the thump of a body falling sounded.

 

As Sapphire turned, she found her captor dead.

 

**\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

[Sherlock’s POV]

 

They had narrowed it down to a few buildings. The three on the screen had no CCTV around it, but the CCTV they could find was very useful. It showed a nondescript white van moving towards them. One of these had to be it, they weren’t clever enough for it not to be. They piled into one of Mycroft’s cars and left for the warehouses.

 

**______________________**

 

The first one was a bust. But, while Sherlock had been waiting for the ‘qualified’ officers to search the building, he found a head poking out to the one they would search next. The head quickly turned and left for the warehouse when they made eye contact. That one. That warehouse. Lestrade was just coming out with a defeated look on his face when Sherlock just turned back to where they were. The detective quickly started running to the other building. 

 

The DI and army doctor hurried to catch up with him, and they made it there just in time, for when they finally actually got into the room, the men-  Thomas and his accomplice -were finishing packing their things. Ace tried pulling a gun, but he was shot before he could reach it. 

 

Thomas tried using Sapphire as a shield. Whilst the police were yelling at him, Sherlock could see John getting annoyed. Finally he said;

 

“Christ, he’s not going to do it. Just-” 

 

and shot. Thomas fell to the ground with one bullet hole in his skull.

 

**\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

[John’s POV]

 

He’s had enough of this. The man is using the teenager as a bloody shield! Someone should’ve took the shot awhile back. Then again, not many people in the room had as good aim as he.

 

_ BANG!! _

 

Thomas Greenland fell dead with a thud. Sapphire Clark just breathed out a sigh, stood up, brushed herself off and asked;

 

“So who’s going to take me home?”

  
Sherlock just laughed behind him.


	3. I Checked Your Phone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I most likely am going to post on weekend because I write in my free time in class and have no time to convert it to digital during the week.

[Sherlock’s POV]

 

Sherlock laughed. He had to, it was exactly what he had said when he’d been in this situation. She really was an extraordinary girl. She was calm and collected after her father died and her entire life changed. 

 

“I’ll take you home to get your things. Do you have a family member you can stay with?” Lestrade asked.

 

“Yeah. My aunt. She’ll take care of me.”

 

It was a lie. Her medical records showed no family outside of her father. Sherlock decided not to call her out on it, he would just have to keep an eye out.

 

A week later his phone was hacked. He kept his phone on him at all times.

 

  **\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

[Sapphire's POV]

The ride home was dreadful. The police officer -Lestrade, the badge said- he took Sapphire home and waited for her to grabbed everything she would need to take with her. Computer, phone, three weeks worth of clothes, money, meds, flashlight,  soap and chargers. Anything else she could grab when she snuck back in. 

 

She left for the bathroom, grabbed her toiletries and left. Lestrade took her to the random address near the place she would be living from then on. While Lestrade knocked on the door she darted for the alley entrance.

 

Once hidden away in the alley, she jumped down. Nobody would know she was down here. Using the flashlight, she made her way to the opening she knew would be right next to another entrance to an abandoned subway.

 

Right above the train was a cafe with wifi and somehow the lights still worked. All in all, she was glad for this place. There was clean drinking water in the corner. Long ago she memorized the sewer system and found this place. In all of her free time she would come down here and clean the train car to be livable. It was almost done, just needed some dirt cleaned and wiped down. 

 

By the end of the day she had all of the dirt swepped out. It was only 8 o’clock but it was dark out by then, she discovered when she left to grab the things she left at her house. The house she left behind was easy to get to via sewer. She cleared the normally ten minute walk (above ground) in five. 

 

After grabbing the food that wouldn’t go bad and the rest of the items she’d need -sleeping bag, stationery, pillow, knife- she went back to the train. Sapphire used the bench to make a temporary bed, soon she was out like a light.

 

The next day she woke up, ate, then started that day of cleaning. She might need to buy a bunsen burner to heat things up soon.

 

**______________________**

 

Money was running out, but she’d made good with the money she had. The abandoned subway was now clean, after only two months, she had a setup to alert her of intruders and she fixed the benches to not mess up her back. All the while affording food. 

 

Sapphire would need a job though, but she had a plan. She knew about Sherlock’s homeless network and could be part of it. While she had a place to sleep, she was still technically on the streets. Without meaning to, she had picked the cafe under Sherlock’s flat. So really the exit to the world was right where she needed to be. 

 

The teenager left her sanctuary and walked the fifty feet to 221B Baker Street. The landlady -Mrs. Hudson, she did her research- opened the door.

 

“What can I do for you, dearie?” The older woman asked.

 

“I would like to see Sherlock Holmes, please.”

 

“Of course.” Mrs. Hudson opened the door further to let her in. “Up the stairs and to the left. They’re probably bickering, they always are.”

 

“Thank you, Ma’am.” 

 

The woman chuckled. “No problem sweetie.” And left for her own flat.

 

Sapphire took the directions to the second floor and knocks again.

 

“What can I- Sapphire?” John says, opening the door.

 

“Yes, hello. Is Sherlock here?”

 

“Yes I am.” A voice called from the back. “But you already knew that.” Sapphire stepped in to face the genius.”

 

“What would lead you to- I’m not doing that. So you know then?”

 

He looks up from his microscope. “Of course I know.” 

 

“Tell the lesser mind what’s going on, please.”

 

“John, you’re never lesser. And I know when my phone has been hacked.” Sherlock studies her for a bit. “Interesting.”

 

“I am. But I need something from you. A job. I know about your homeless network, I need money and I am useful. I’ll be invisible to the public where you are questioned and I am a wonderful actor.”

 

“Hm… What do you propose I pay you?”

 

“Minimum wage. Instead of hours for pounds we’ll go notes for pounds. Only the useful ones because you wouldn’t pay someone for not doing their job.” She holds out her phone. “Put your number in. You can choose the times we meet up.”

 

“Do you have a place to stay? And put my number in too, ‘Lock. Just in case you get into trouble.” John says, slightly worriedly.

 

“Yes and I’ll be fine. My father taught me how to patch myself up.”

 

“I haven’t accepted anything.” Sherlock states, handing the phone back. “I need to know how good you are.”

 

The teenager gives him a once-over. “You haven’t, but you will. Everything about your stance to your face says so. You’re a bit hard to read, given your own deduction and acting skills. You are guarded, trying oh-so hard to not give any signs about your thoughts about me or my employment. You want me to succeed because I remind you of your,” Sapphire glances around the room, “older brother. You are married, to someone you would want to protect, and your identical lumps in your shirts tell me you and John here are married. Your brother works in the government, no he  _ is _ the government. So your papers are so buried that they practically don’t exist. Criminals would use John to get to you, and visa versa, so you don’t yell it to the world that you are together.” She finishes confidently, daring anyone to contradict her. When nobody steps up, she walks out, knowing she got the job. It was only confirmed when she got a text.

 

_ Noon. Sundays, in Speedy’s. Notebook will be left in there for you by close. -SH _

 

Sapphire would pick it up after she already had some mediocre notes. Everybody has to start somewhere and the police station was it. In her…  _ lair  _ as it were, she hacked into NSY. A body had been found and the case was still unsolved after two weeks. It was a locked room murder and by the looks of 221B, they had only just recruited Sherlock. It was a bad choice on Lestrade’s part, but she supposed they needed to at least  _ try _ -if you could call it that- but Sherlock was obviously needed for this. All that was on the file was the name of the suspect’s names and the victim. The victim was a 5’8 Chinese man by the name of George Lau. Sapphire did something only a teenager would ever think to check- social media. 

 

She knew just from observation how social media was infecting the minds of this generation and knew of how much damage could ensue if used wrongly. Combine that with how much people actually share and you can figure out every single relationship between two. George was a fairly simple man on facebook and twitter, with almost no pictures, but his instagram was filled with his (now divorced and remarried) wife, Vanessa Thompson. 

 

His wife had cheated on him the year before. They divorced and he never got over it; that much was clear by the fact that he was blocked from her facebook, but not the other way around. The girl had already been questioned, but not the new husband. There was no contact between the two (Vanessa and George) other than the fact they worked in the same building. George seemed to work as CFO while Vanessa made sure publicity was manageable. 

 

Looking into company records for Vanessa, she had multiple complaints from George for harassment in the workplace and had been recently given notice for getting fired with one more offence. 

 

Sapphire was about to look into the building George was murdered in, but Speedy’s was about to close and she needed that notebook. She grabbed her phone and left for the cafe.

 

**________________________**

 

“Hello dear. I hope Sherlock was of some help.” Mrs. Hudson said.

 

“He did, he also said he would leave a notebook here for me?”

 

“Oh yes? I assume you’re Sapphire?” She asked as she pulled a leather bound notebook from behind the counter.

 

“Yes, it seems I’ll be seeing you fairly often, too. I will be meeting Sherlock once a week.”

 

“Okay, sweetie. Well my name is Mrs. Hudson. Just shout if you need anything.”

 

“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.” Sapphire said with a bow of her head as she left.

  
The teenager could see why Sherlock liked the older woman. She cared without being intrusive. She was a good person, in Sapphire’s experience at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to anybody not in America for the inches thing, but I am in America and am ignorant. You can complain or reassure or do pretty much anything in the comments. I accept it


	4. I Know You're Creeping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for not posting over the weekend. I had an essay due and had no time to write it. I will try to post on Saturday, but after that I will be on vacation. I dot know what I will get done, but don't expect anything for two weeks.

[Sherlock’s POV]

 

It was Sunday now. Sherlock was was waiting in Speedy’s, five minutes early I might add, waiting for his new employee to show up.

 

At exactly 12 pm, Sapphire walked through the small cafe’s door and went straight to the detective.. She now carried a small purse with her, which she pulled the notebook, the one Sherlock had given her, out of.

 

“Who have you been doing research on already? I’ve not given you a case yet.”

 

“No, but you have been on a case. A murder, if I’m correct. These notes are what I could gather from the sub par police notes and some digging of my own. It’s not much, but it might help.”

 

As Sherlock flipped through the used pages, he noticed the harassment charges made by George. It was odd, the wife left her husband to join another, blocked the former in any way possible, then harassed the first husband enough to get reported.

 

Sapphire took wonderful notes, using the insight of fads and trends only teenagers had. It seemed more and more people were giving their life stories out for the public to view as pleased. 

 

“These notes are wonderful, but these are the only kind you can get with a murderer. I like employees alive and to stay that way as long as possible. I'll let you chase down anybody except a killer.”

 

“I, honestly, would like to stay alive as well. As long as I can do those type of investigation, at the moment I have no complaints on the topic.”

 

“Good. If something is important and can't wait until we meet, text me or John.” Sherlock ripped out some of the used pages then slid the notebook across the table. Sapphire grabbed his arm as he stood to leave. 

 

“Before you go, one question.” Sapphire lowered her hand to his pulse point and used her other hand to slide her notebook into her bag while Sherlock rolled his eyes. Of course she would ask about the stupid hat that had become his icon. “Did John put you up to the murderer guidelines?”

 

Sherlock instantly shook his head, surprised. “No.. He brought it up between the two of us but I was already planning on it.”

 

Satisfied with his answer, Sapphire lets go of his arm, collects the rest of her things and leaves. 

 

**____________**

 

“Mycroft, what are you doing here?”

 

“I just stopped by to give you some information on your pet projects living situation.” It had been a week after the first meeting and Sherlock had just come back from Speedy’s, a handful of wonderful notes tucked under his arm.

 

John poked his head out of the kitchen to say, “I certainly would like to know.”

 

However, the door downstairs opened and closed before Mycroft could respond his inquiring. Time seemed to freeze as stomping feet made their way up the stairs towards them. The door opened to reveal Sapphire Clark, looking livid.

 

“I know you bugged my place, Mr. Government. All of my electronics have been looked through and had one thing deleted off of it, or at least put in the recycling bin. Always the first thing too, and cameras were visible and on the same server, the ones I found that is. Those are not appreciated by the way and are already down. Entrances and exits only, as if you, or your men per say, believed I wouldn’t find them. Are your men always this sloppy?”

 

Mycroft seemed surprised by her sudden appearance and admission (and wasn’t that just a beautiful sight). He kept the regal composure he normally carried and said, “My apologies. It seems the door situation, or lack thereof, had escaped their minds. My intent was to monitor, not to spy.”

 

“I understand. You want to make sure you have the most up to date and most accurate information about the people your brother frequents. People can seem good and well-intentioned in the day then unrecognizable in the shadow of night. People can do things even I wouldn’t approve of. I don’t care if you set up cameras, I don’t care if you get a man to follow me around, but I do value my privacy. All I ask is that I am not ‘monitored’ while I do anything you would not normally watch someone do.”

 

“Of course. I’ll get on that as soon as possible.”

 

“Right, the text message you get from the next unknown number will have the two letters ‘SC’ in capital at the end. That is me. Here’s your phone back, Sherlock.” She slides it on the table, Mycroft smiles.

 

“Seems like you’ve lost your touch, brother.”

 

“Don’t act so smug, Mycroft.” Sherlock shoots backs. “Put the rest of it on the table.”

 

Sapphire smiles innocently for a few seconds before dropping the act, rolling her eyes and reaching into her purse.

 

“It’s only a lock picking kit, and with his job of government it seemed like he could get a new one from his desk drawer.”

 

“Looks like you two have finally found a common ground. I’m so proud.” John mocked, pretending to wipe a tear. Sapphire snickered.

 

“Come on now, Sapphire, don’t guess. Tell me; does he or does he not have another lock picking kit within his desk.” Sherlock said with a challenging stare.

 

The girl looked Mycroft up and down. “No, but he can have one placed there within the half hour. With your government position I wouldn’t be surprised to see the queen on your contact list.”

 

“I do have a question.” John inquired. “How the hell did you steal anything off of Sherlock and get anything out of Mycroft? These two have more secrets than a teenager’s diary.”

 

“I guess they’re a little off their game then.” She spun and left.

 

“You said she had a place, yes? Is it safe?”

 

“She has no family and wouldn’t trust a temporary one. This is the safest way she’d  _ feel. _ She has been dressed in clean clothes and fed every time you’ve seen her, I would’ve thought even you would know she had a place to sleep. There is an abandoned subway under Baker Street. She has found it and cleaned it out since her rescue three months ago, possibly before that. Sapphire eats warm meals and sleeps on a schedule, washes her clothes with a nearby clean water source and knows how to defend herself. You have picked well, brother, but caring is still not an advantage”

 

“Good, I’m glad she’s safe.”

 

“She will be even more come tomorrow. I will take her up on her offer and assign one of my men to watch over her. She will be more safe than she was with her father.”

 

John handed Sherlock his tea and sat across from the detective. “Good. She should have a key here too. She is always welcome here.”

 

After Mycroft takes his leave, Sherlock says softly, “John?” and waits for him to look up.

 

John smiles and takes the other’s hand. “She’s important to you, I can tell. She might be able to read you, but I  _ know  _ you. And I know you care.”

  
Not having any room to argue, Sherlock nods and turns toward the telly to watch horrible reality TV, hand still firmly in John’s


	5. Would You (Rather) Be Alone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how often I'll be able to post while I'm on vacation and I'm sorry for this being late and short. Should have another one up soon.

[Sapphire’s POV]

 

Sapphire walked in Speedy’s at exactly 12:00 pm Sunday. She spotted Sherlock immediately and pulled out her notebook as she walked. They spoke through the rules about murderers and her own intelligence and about how much she could get from the likes of Anderson.

 

They soon separated and she went back to her lair; that was what Sapphire started calling the subway she slept in. Now it was a wwek after and Sapphire just concluded her second visit with the consulting detective. The teenager pulled down the now-dry clothes to fold and organize. After those and alike chores; she had to keep the living area clean, it was how she was raised; she researched the new case. Once sufficient notes were made, Sapphire left her laptop to make herself dinner.

 

This was the point that she noticed there was not enough for a meal. At least she had just been paid and could go out for groceries. A decent one too, Sherlock had taken quite a few notes with him.

 

She left her space and started walking to the nearest Tesco. About three payphones started to ring as she got close and stopped as she walked away, obviously someone was both watching her and trying to communicate. She picks up the forth phone.

 

“Sapphire.” It’s Mycroft on the other side. “Care for a ride?” Not even a moment later a nondescript black car pulled up to the curb.

 

“No thank you, Mycroft, I am doing quite well on my own.” She says into the phone and goes to hang up, but Mycroft says something else before she can.

 

“I only wish to talk, please. I have something for you, if you’re interested.” 

 

Sapphire had been planning on declining again, but knew how little a Holmes actually said ‘please’, especially the older sibling. As she climbed into the car, the teenager absently noted a woman sitting beside Mycroft, though payed her no mind. “To the nearest Tesco, anything else will have me out of this car.”

 

“Agreed.” The driver pulled away from the curb. “So, Sapphire, were you particularly averse to one of my men keeping an eye on you?” 

 

“No, I believe I was the one to suggest it.”

 

“Yes, however sometimes people suggest things they would rather not have happen. In this case, a young man will meet you sometime tomorrow.”

 

“Was that all this meeting was called for? To ask and inform me of my future chaperone?”

 

After a moment Mycroft responds. “Yes, that was it.”

 

Tesco soon comes into view and the car stops. “Thank you for the ride and concern. I know you can't give the latter freely.” She respectfully bows her head in dismissal and leaves the vehicle.

 

**____________________**

 

Sapphire get the essentials -cereal, canned fruits and veggies, beef jerry - the some things to be a kid - soda and a big bag of chips.

 

She walks back home with no interruptions this time, though she avoids CCTV just for fun. At home, might as well call it that now, the teenager notices the cameras up again, trying way too hard to be and stay hidden. Sapphire winks at them, she can't have them being too smug. Sleep soon befalls her after the food and food mess are over and done with.

 

The next day she still hasn't met the protector. Nevertheless, she takes her leave and goes to where the robbers are most likely going to be next. Once on the corner opposite of J and Main Street, she sat at the cafe, waiting. 

  
The suspect walked into the bank, Sapphire made certain her speed dial was what it should be and walked in. 


	6. If I Followed You Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter but I'm working on one that would have taken a 360 from this one and therefore could not be put in the same chapter.

[Sapphire’s POV]

 

Sapphire stepped in line to the bank soon after. She was close to the counter before anything actually happened. Two people, men, walked out of the back. They both were wearing masks usually only seen in the purge movies. They did the usual thing; demand money, secure the perimeter, send one of the two to grab the money. Cell phones were taken, though Sapphire was a damn good actor and put on a show to keep hers. Sherlock was informed as soon as the attention was off of her.

 

_ J amd Main. Robbeey in progress. Bsnk. Get Lestrafe doen here. -SC _

 

She had been practicing typing behind her back, but knew she wasn’t perfect. It would take just a little bit longer for her to get really good, but Sherlock would get the message through a few spelling mistakes.

 

It took another fifteen minutes for the police to get there. The robbers seemed surprised, it usually took double that time. They were rushing, getting sloppy. Sherlock and John were heard arguing. The sound got louder until they bursts through the doors. The criminal watching over the hostages spun and pointed his gun at them. 

 

Sapphire did a quick scan of the army doctor; no gun, just came from lunch and had no time to run and get it. John was cussing under his breath, realizing his mistake in his rush to get there. The robber had also seen this, and took the opportunity to shoot Sherlock in the shoulder, effectively making John rush over to try and stop the bleeding. 

 

Sapphire was trying to decide whether to go to Sherlock or take out the gunman. Sherlock and her locked eyes, he silently told her to wait -to not put herself in unnecessary danger. Mind made up, she crawled over towards the bathroom.

 

“Hey, Bitch, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

 

“Sir, that man needs medical. I was going to the bathroom to get some.”

 

He hummed for a moment, looking between herself and Sherlock. Then looked to a woman, on her nametag was Tasha, on the ground. “You, go with her. And don’t try to escape. I’ll give you one minute before I just kill him.”

 

Tasha nodded and rushed, with Sapphire to the bathroom. Along the way, the latter stopped in a supply closet. She grabbed rags and a bucket, then ran to the bathroom to gather water.

 

They made it back just in time. Just as he was positioning to shoot again, and John looked about to jump in from of him Sapphire shouted, “WAIT!!” Then rushed over to help John apply pressure and clean the wound better than he had been with his jumper.

 

Soon the bullet wound had been cleaned, disinfected (thank Mycroft for the germophobe employee having hand sanitizer) and had a steady pressure applied to it. Sapphire was getting ready to hold Sherlock in the best blood/airflow position (laying back, though not all the way, with the head back as well),while John murdered the man for hurting the former, when Lestrade and his entire squad rushed through the door. 

 

Both men were taken to the station in handcuffs, the workers and others in the bank were free to run among the streets. Sherlock was rushed to the hospital with John riding next to him. In the middle a small argument between Mycroft and Lestrade about who would take her home, Sapphire slips off to the sewer. Running home while not being able to get Sherlock and his well being off her mind.

 

Home provided a distraction; as it so often did, whether it be in the form of an email or growling stomach. This time it was a young man, about twenty seven himself and displaying the calm mask all Mycroft’s men had down pat, and Mycroft himself. She addressed the british government first.

 

“Mycroft, I said you could monitor, not come in whenever you wanted. This is still my home, it should be treated with respect.” Sapphire made a show of walking straight past the hanging laundry and to the laptop area, where she tracked all her current targets with a few clicks.

 

“This is Matthew, he will be your chaperone from now on. Please do not try to evade him, you agreed to this.”

 

Sapphire groans. “Fine. Only if I can for important things or things I need to do on my lonesome.”

 

“Important in what way?”

 

“Let’s say that I can get to Sherlock underground faster than people can above, can I sneak out to do so?”

 

“I believe that to be an acceptable situation. Be aware that he does have a vehicle, if you do not mind riding on the back of a motorcycle.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. That’s fine. One more thing,” She finally looks up from her computer to them. “Will he be staying here or going back to a flat every night?”

 

“That is for you two to discuss and for Matthew to report back to me. I will leave you two to get acquainted with each other.”

  
Mycroft left and Sapphire walked over to the locked down food section of the subway. “You hungry? Because I skipped lunch.”


	7. Walkin' Round With A Loaded Gun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go. Be warned, I have had no proofreading done to this chapter and it might be a bit off kilter. Enjoy and don't forget to rage, praise or disgrace me in the comments. Let out those bottled up emotions on me, I can take it. All I ask is you keep the story out of it so I know if I actually need to fix something.

[Sherlock’s POV]

 

Eating. Giving your transport sustenance so it can perform mediocre tasks like digestion and oxygenation of cells. Such a boring task when on one’s lonesome. Especially when eating with the man you know you love but could never love you back. There were multiple reasons to not love a man like Sherlock. He was snappy, sassy, wouldn’t talk or wouldn’t stop talking for days, he was a freak, liked looking at dead bodies to gather information, thought eating was something mediocre and was all around unenjoyable.

 

Now, when eating with somebody who loves you but you don’t love, that’s boring too. Because they are either using all of their brain capacity to ignore that little detail, doing everything in their power to appeal to you or flirting endlessly.

 

This was all thought before Sherlock met a retired army doctor by the name of John Hamish Watson. John was the one Sherlock could never have, and visa versa for the man in question. Because you would love a PTSD-ridden, irritable army doctor with a psychosomatic limp and a cramping shoulder.

 

Then one afternoon Sherlock jumped off a roof. He did it all to save John. Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade would be saved too, of course, but they would be the baking soda and powder in the cake, John was the flour. All essential ingredients, yes, but much more flour is used than the other two. So Sherlock jumped, and fell and fell and  _ splat. _ Only he didn’t splat. He was caught by the giant airbag at the base of St. Barts. He was away for two years, thought about John every single day. Through every Siberian torture session. Through nights of running and days of sleeping. Taking down Moriarty's web in the name of John Hamish Watson.

 

When he came back, John was not happy at first; taking his emotions out on Sherlock in the form of fists. Then, in 221B, John watched Sherlock wince as he tried to move back in. As they tried to make things how they were. That night was ingrained in Sherlock’s mind. The best day of his life.

 

_ ~~~~ _

 

“Sherlock, what’s wrong?” John, ever the carer. “Sherlock you promised not to keep anything from me anymore. Lord knows I never kept things from you.” That in itself had Sherlock flinching, then crying out as the already-reopened wounds pinched and pulled the new skin there. And he had promised, so he let John fuss over him as they walked, together, to the kitchen chair.

 

“‘Lock, let me take a look at your back.” Sherlock stood suddenly, and backed up. “Sherlock-”

 

“No, I can patch myself up. I just need a first aid kit.”

 

“No.” John cornered him and used one of the stolen handcuffs still lying around to cuff him to the sink. He started unbuttoning the taller man’s shirt and gasped when he was done. Scars, new and old but certainly not there two years ago, littered his torso. Bruises covered almost the entire surface and blood stained the skin. John seemed almost afraid to look at his back, but he took the button-down off the free arm and made Sherlock turn around. The newest wounds had been reopened and the older ones were jagged and hadn’t healed right. There were places on his shoulders and arms where it looked like stitches had been, but some were never taken fully out and others were never placed when they should have been. 

 

“‘Lock?” John was starting to cry. Sherlock turned again (having uncuffed himself and succumbed to his fate), this time to catch John as two years of emotion crashed into him at seeing his best friend’s bad injuries. John cried until no tears were left. 

 

They got back to work on moving Sherlock in and stopped when they got to his old room. “I, uh, kinda was living in here. Sorry, I’ll get my stuff out it’s just everything smelled like you and I should really stop talking but umph-” Sherlock cut him off with a kiss. His first ever real kissed with someone he loved. John kissed him back with renewed vigor. 

 

John ended up really liking being surrounded by Sherlock on all sides, nose pressed to the base of his neck and folded up in Sherlock’s arms. Sherlock, for his part, loved having John in his arms, like he’d been wanting for six years.

 

_ ~~~~ _

 

Back to the point, eating was significantly boring on your own or with boring people. John was never boring. Every second with him is cherished and stored in his mind palace. They were at lunch now, and just paying when Sherlock got a text. 

 

_ J amd Main. Robbeey in progress. Bsnk. Get Lestrafe doen here. -SC _

 

Sherlock threw the bills onto the table, not caring for change, and rushed to hail a cab and text Lestrade. He had to explain to John what was going on and just how stupid Sapphire was being. They stopped at the bank about 75 meters away, where the police were setting up (Scotland Yard was just over 8 km away, it hadn’t taken that long even with London traffic). 

 

“Sherlock, why did you make me come here. This isn’t my division.” Lestrade complained, snagging Sherlock’s elbow. 

 

“If Sapphire has been a bigger idiot than usual and gotten herself injured then it might just become your division.” Sherlock snapped and pulled himself away.

 

“Sherlock. You can’t just go in there, it might put more people in danger.”

 

“Might being the keyword here John.”

 

“Sherlock, don’t be an idiot. Be the genius I met that first day.”

 

“Can’t, you would do the same for me if I were in there.” He knew he had John when they entered the building as calmly as they could.

  
Not all remained calm, though. Sherlock remembered John didn’t have his gun as one was being pointed at him. He barely had time to move to the side before the pointed lead pierced his skin and narrowly missed the major arteries on his shoulder. 


	8. Don't Push Me Over It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't going to end how I was planning, probably. I'm sorry for this monstrosity. As always, feel free to praise me or rage at me all you want.

[Sapphire’s POV]

 

“You hungry? Because I skipped lunch.”  Sapphire addressed Matthew for the first time. She started making some Shin Ramyun for herself; something her dad had introduced to her and she never stopped liking. 

 

“I am fine, miss.”

 

“If you’re going to stick around then quit with formalities. Either call me Sapphire or Saph, Clark, whatever. But that ‘miss’ stuff ends now.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“And stop being so cut off. You don’t have to spill government secrets but at least loosen up a bit. I mean, what are you going to end up doing all day. I assume you would rather just stay here at night instead of paying for a flat, end up waking up at five to be able to get ready and drive here by the time I get up, spending no time there save for sleep, and leaving me here with quote unquote ‘no protection?’”

 

Matthew deflated a bit, seemingly trying to loosen up. “Very well. Do you have a place for me to sleep?”

 

“Do you really think I would offer if I didn’t” Sapphire snarked, and she could tell it was the only  _ real  _ conversation he’d had in a while - probably since he started working for the government at all. “It wouldn’t do for me to be living with a robot. Even Sherlock and Mycroft show emotion sometimes. You should watch a conversation between John and Sherlock and John, it’s like a singles cruise.”

 

“So where am I to sleep?”

 

“Yes, right this way.” the water wasn’t boiling yet, so she walked off to the subway car where she slept. There were many benches in tact and most of the backrests were pushed down and moved to make two long rows of beds. “You can bring anything you want from your place. My only real rule is to not be a slob. You clean your own mess. If you get more than two strikes a month then I kick you out. I spent a lot time cleaning this place up, but I bet you’ve been in that habit for a while. Make yourself comfortable, might as well get acquainted with the place. I’ll go make sure my dinner isn’t going to burn this down.” She left smirking, going to stir in the noodles and spicy seasoning. She sat next to her computer, eating and checking up on the people she was keeping an eye on for both Sherlock and her own personal enjoyment.

 

Once dinner was done, she took all of her dishes and washed them off and dried them and stuck them back on the cabinet she dragged over from the old security station near the water. 

 

Matthew told her that he would inform Mycroft, gather his things and tell his landlady about his new living situation. All in all it would take about an hour and a half. In which Sapphire would be doing the daily chores she assigned herself to keep the place tidy then wait to go see Sherlock. She still couldn’t figure out what it was about the two of them (Sherlock and John) that was so… intriguing. 

 

Matthew resurfaced an hour and twenty minutes later, going down the slightly closed off used-to-be public entrance, with two suitcases and a garbage bag of miscellaneous items. Pots and pans cluncked with every step, various dry foods crinkled and other things made various noises as he made his way to his bed.

 

Sapphire helped him set everything up. “How did you get all this on a motorcycle?”

 

“Small detachable sidecar and a bungee cord. You can choose whether to ride in that or behind me. Whichever way works for you.”

 

“Sidecar, it’s the fastest way to see my only friend.”

 

“Really? At your age?”

 

“I’ve lived a secluded life with a smart yet paranoid foundation.”

 

“Fair enough. And I brought this for you.” He held a helmet out to Sapphire. “I can get one that fits you better later, but that’s my spare.” It was black with red trimming, Sapphire’s favorite colors. It fit comfortably too.

 

“This is quite fine. Let’s go before Sherlock can get himself into critical condition.” 

 

Riding in a sidecar was a lot less uncomfortable and degrading than she thought it would be. There was room for her backpack, should she need it and she would. There, of course, was a lap seatbelt and enough foot room to be able to sit for long hours.

 

They made their way to the hospital closest to down downtown in thirty minutes. It had only been about two and a half hours since Sherlock got admitted. He was still in surgery and all they had to do was wait…

 

**\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

[John’s POV]

 

John was so mad. No, not mad, angry. Vengeful. Venomous. He had wanted to kill those idiots for shooting Sherlock. He wanted to kill them slowly for calling Sapphire a bitch. She was only fourteen, how could she have made enemies with a bank robber? Sherlock, sure, he could see that. But a fourteen year old girl that’s too grown up. Sapphire shouldn’t have to watch her back all the time, looking for the little details that so many people miss just so she knows she’ll wake up the next day. 

 

Those were jobs for John and Sherlock, Mycroft and Lestrade, Anderson even and he’s an idiot. Jobs for people that were legal adults and have had the time to be a kid. People that had a job and a reason to watch. People in their country’s service or detectives and police officers that actually  _ do _ something to earn their hate. Namely, putting them away or contributing to it. 

 

As he was, the man was going to jail and he had to work on getting the bullet out of Sherlock’s shoulder. It took a few hours to both get it out, get the dangerous pieces of shrapnel out, then stop the bleeding. He was told the room number Sherlock would be transferred to as he went to wash his hands. 

 

He noticed Sapphire as he closed the door. She was standing next to the bed, looking up as if she didn’t expect John to be there so soon. Her eyes were more shiny than usual. The man Mycroft seemed to assign to her was standing in the corner, not knowing what to do. 

 

“I-I’m sorry. I’ll leave you two alone. I’m sorry.” 

 

She tried to walk past him, chaperone following, but John caught her and pulled her into a hug. She sobbed. It seemed like for the first time since she was kidnapped. It felt like she was crying for her father, for Sherlock -probably feeling like it was her fault-, for everything and anything that might’ve broken her that little bit more. He just held her there as his jumper soaked with her tears.

  
“You have nothing to apologize for. You can see Sherlock whenever you want. Hear me?” He kissed her on the forehead, happy to be able to provide that bit of comfort.


	9. You're Not The Only One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter, I have two other fanfics and I am a bit busy in real life. I figured a short update was better than none at all/

[Sherlock’s POV]

 

Sherlock’s brain was cataloging before he was even fully awake, something he learned after the many times he’d been kidnapped. _Scratchy sheets from too many washes. Disinfectant, some kind of rubbing alcohol solution. Isopropyl. There were beeping machines surrounding him, plus a weighted hand in his….Both of his. He was most likely in the hospital from the gunshot._ He opened his eyes and found exactly what he expected; a bland, white hospital room with a person on either side of him. John, who was dozing in the small hours of the morning, and Sapphire, who jerked her hand out of his when she found him awake. A man was in the corner, sleeping, but it seemed he was not a threat, given that he was both sleeping and not out of the room yet.

 

“Hey.” Sapphire spoke first.

 

“Hi.” Sherlock took another look around, noticing a glass of water on the table. Sapphire reached over, putting the straw to his mouth. He drank, cooling his throat and easing the ache. He saw the way she was looking, like she didn’t belong there but she didn’t want to leave. Sherlock cleared his throat. “Isn’t a meeting supposed to happen today?”

 

“Yeah, later. You can cancel if you want. Nothing of real utmost importance yet.”

 

“No, no. That would be unnecessary. Criminals have to be caught, and if I am to last any amount of hours in somewhere so boring then I’ll run all the way home and hurt myself more. Either that or they’ll just knock me out again.”

 

“Oh, okay then. Here.” She held out her journal to him.

 

“Why don’t you read it to me?”

 

“Oh, yeah. Sure.”

 

She read everything she wrote down from that week. John woke up near the end, but he didn’t want to disturb her and just squeezed Sherlock’s hand. By the time she finished, Sherlock’s mind was racing with patterns and solutions. Suspects and clues. Hints and details that only two other people in London could’ve found, only one on some of them. John ‘officially’ woke up, kissed Sherlock on the head, and went to the cafeteria and grab some coffee.

 

It was about seven a.m. by now, and the man was starting to wake up too. “Sapphire? Do you want to go and get showered and stuff soon?"

 

Sherlock looked up and down the man. He saw the gun, the obvious military training, the way he was trying to seem more relaxed, probably for Sapphire. He looked relaxed, though he was sitting up straight. Conclusion: the man Mycroft sent to look after Sapphire, as much as she would let him.

 

Sapphire nodded at the man, packed her stuff in her bag, and leaned down next to Sherlock’s ear. “Sorry for the bullet, occupational hazard?” She whispered.

 

“Very much so.” He whispered back. She kissed him on the forehead before they left, hesitant and unsure of propriety, but he smiled and she smiled back. Then they left.

 

“Take care, Sapphire.”  


 

* * *

 

 

John came back into the room shortly after Sapphire left. “That was a good thing you did.”

 

“Pardon?” Sherlock asked, accepting him cup of with his good arm.

 

“You helped her out, helped to stop her from feeling so guilty. That’s a good thing, Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock doesn’t respond, just sips his tea. John sits back with a smug smile on his face.

 


	10. Where Ya Goin'?

[Sapphire’s POV]

 

She arrived back home a small while after leaving the hospital. Sapphire gathered everything she needed to take a shower and when to the water faucet. Turning it on, she watched as the bucket filled while she hung her towel and undressed, leaving her sandals on. Once it was filled to optimum level, she continued to wash her hair and body, using a small cup to portion the water. The teenager got back to the main part of the lair, dressed in clean clothes, and checked her phone for messages.

 

_ Sherlock can go home tomorrow. He won’t be able to chase after criminals for a little while, though. -JW _

 

Sapphire was feeling really bad now. If she had just told Lestrade instead of going there, Sherlock wouldn’t have been shot and he would be able to put himself in more danger…..maybe it was a good thing he was out of commission. He wouldn’t be getting stabbed or running off after one of his and John’s quarrels. 

 

Sapphire had only been following the two for her own amusement. The people Sherlock had her after were priority, but they weren’t always doing something bad. Sherlock wasn’t always on a case, either. Some people he was trailing was just because he wanted to keep an eye on them, most actually. She kept a tracker on her targets. Sherlock always gave her a picture and name to go off of, she stalked them for a little while on the internet, found out what they wore everyday. Be it a scarf, a coat or a watch, she got a tracker on them. 

 

One of her best plants, Oliver Kingsley. She had dirtied up her clothes and not showered for three days, then walked onto the street and pretended to be homeless….she was homeless, but she pretended to be broke too. She was begging for money, and actually got a couple of bucks, when Oliver walked by. She had reached out, told him some hippie bullshit, and let him leave. She had planted the smallest tracker she could make on the inside of his wristwatch. It was how she kept track of everybody.

 

Speaking of, one of the dots was missing from the grid. Sapphire looked around, the keyboard was moved five millimeters to the left, clear from the dust misplacement. It was fairly new too, done in the last half hour. She would have to make more trackers.  Pulling wires and other various electronic parts and tools from some boxes under her desk, she got to work on some new ones. Matthew was staring at her in disbelief.

 

“What? I had to do  _ something _ while my father was at work. He had a book on electronics and I had some things that didn’t work anymore. I developed a knack for it.” Matthew held his hands up in surrender and continued to play on his phone.

 

She continued to tinker with with pieces of metal, trying to figure out what had happened in the process. She had been in the abandoned subway for about thirty five minutes, now. That meant someone had to have messed with her computer program at least five minutes after they entered. She had seen all of the dots before her shower, then one went missing by the time she exited. That meant one of two things, either someone came down and made changes on her computer, getting past Matthew and keeping out of his sights, or Matthew was the one who did it. 

 

Both were plausible, Sapphire had only been trailed by Matthew for a day, and he could be leaving at any time to meet, or be using his phone or whatever. She would have to look into that, but not now. Right now she had a detective to work for, GPS systems to make, and do her chores. 

  
  


**\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

[John’s POV]

 

After Sapphire left, it was a fairly boring day. He got some calls from Molly and Mrs. Hudson and updated Sapphire on what was going on, the two former asking about Sherlock’s status while they were stuck at work. He told them he was fine, made some nurses so mad they had to leave the room before they could have a patient assault on their record. All in all, since John was a doctor with more than plenty of knowledge on how to treat bullet wounds, Sherlock was given an early release. They just wanted him to stay there that night to make sure it didn’t get worse.

 

While waiting for the day to end, John puts up with Sherlock going through fits of pain and clinginess. One moment he would be shifting, trying to get his shoulder in a comfortable position without having to move too much; an almost impossible feat in a hospital bed, then pulling John close and pressing chaste kisses to his face, mostly around his forehead, nose and cheeks. He wasn’t on any real pain meds, just some ex-junkie-safe ones that did almost nothing. In the surgery room, they had given him enough anesthesia to keep him asleep through the night, just so he didn’t wake up in pain before he was given anything to accommodate it. 

 

Sherlock did his best to be reasonable, John could see that. He wasn’t complaining nearly as much as he could have and kept the deductions to a minimum. It seemed like when Mycroft came around he went loose. Commenting profusely about his weight and eating habits and other things they both already knew. After years of seeing them react and knowing the Holmes’, John came to a conclusion: Sherlock was being more irrational and unpleasant to show the older Holmes that he was fine. He was doing way more of the things he usually did to make up for the fact that he couldn’t move much and was in pain every time he tried. 

 

John smiled at their antics. The rest of the day went without visitors save the hourly nurse. Sherlock drove away the nurse when they tried to give him lunch, so John left to get him Angelo’s, which was just a block away from the hospital. 

  
Angelo felt bad for Sherlock and went to make his usual to go. Sherlock was happy with his lunch, that much was shown by how much he ate of it. Sherlock could go days without eating, he did on cases all the time before John stepped in, but he still hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before. Sherlock ate almost the entire container before pushing it away, letting John eat the rest. Night came quickly after that. John updated his blog and Sherlock watched the news and complained about the way they couldn’t see details that were barely even visible on the screen until they both passed out, hand in hand.


	11. Capable Of Murder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry

[Sapphire's POV]

 

Nothing was happening. It was so boring. Criminals seemed to have decided to take a day off. No murders, no thievery, nothing. Sapphire could now understand why Sherlock shot the wall in times like this. The lack of action was driving her absolutely mad.

 

"Do you want to see a movie?" Matthew offered when she was cleaning furiously.

 

"Dull." Was the response. "Movies are so predictable. Especially Horror movies."

 

"Come on, every kid love a good scare here or there."

 

"Matthew, I am not every kid."

 

"Please, let me take you to a movie. It would make me feel better about being inside all day."

 

Sapphire sighed, but looked up movie times on her computer anyway.

 

"There is a 3:30 showing of Amityville Horror."

 

"Oh, that's one of the better ones, classic."

 

________________

 

"Boring." Sapphire said as they walked out of the theatre.

 

"What? How could you think that was boring? That scared the pants of me when I was your age." 

 

"That was you. This is me and my reaction.” Sapphire shrugged as she put on her helmet and stepped into the sidecar.

  
  


The ride home took longer than expected. It was normally a ten minute drive, but London traffic made it half an hour. The two arrived home at 5:30, just in time to make dinner. Sapphire only really ever made dinner for herself, differences in taste and eating habits taught them to make their own things.

 

As Sapphire made herself some food, Matthew was sitting fiddling with his phone. It led the teenager to wonder; what the hell could he be doing? Reporting to Mycroft? Most likely, it wasn’t like his job gave him much time or space for friends. But could he be….no. She was working on this, the only business she could get into was her “client’s” business. Otherwise, people’s lives were not hers to delve into and meddle around in. Matthew had once told her that.

  
  
  


The next day she got a text from Sherlock, a new murder, a new person to follow, something new to do during the day. He sent her pictures, seeing if there was anything she could see that he couldn’t (she had thought about social media when he didn’t, he didn’t keep up with that kind of thing). There was something, just barely visible from the grainy picture, a tattoo. No, it wasn’t a tattoo, it was the smallest puncture wound there could be. Right on top of a freckle to cover it up. He sent her findings to Sherlock, then sat. Just sat back and thought. Took all of the gathered details and tried to put them together. Almost nothing came up. Sherlock had told her his name, occupation and relationship status. She got nothing from the pictures and information. She would have to use the internet. 

 

She was looking into the case for hours. If you took away her clock and asked her how long she’d been at it she wouldn’t know. Everything just blended together, data running through her head like it would in a computer. All she saw was ones and zeros. 

 

“Sapphire you need to sleep.” Matthew said from somewhere behind her. 

 

_ He was still here? I thought he left for take out. _

 

Right, that had been an hour ago, give or take. “I need to work on the case.”

 

“You are fourteen, go to bed. Let Sherlock deal with the insomnia. Live a long life and go to bed.”

 

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “What time is it?”

 

“Midnight. Go to bed.”

 

Sapphire sighed, “Fine. But I’m gonna wake up early.”

 

^^^^^

_ [Anonymous] _

“We agreed to meet here, is the deed done?” The man was shrouded in black, so he couldn’t see who it was.

 

“Yeah. What’s my next mission?”

 

A file was tossed onto the table. “Sandra Lykes. Investor for the company.”

 

“They’ll see the connection. That Sherlock guy is smart and so is that Sapphire girl working for him.” 

 

“Just do the deed. The money will be in the account in three days.”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

He left, file in hand.

 

^^^^^

 

“There’s another one?” Sapphire asked as soon as she answered the phone, not wasting time on pleasantries.

 

Sherlock called this time, needing to explain things in a rapid fire pace too quick for even his typing skills. 

 

“Yes, Sandra Lykes. Investor for the same company. Husband and child unharmed. Killed in an alley on her way home from work. Bullet through the head, from the base of the neck. It might be the same killer, but we can’t be sure.”

 

“I’ll look into it. And I have nothing on the other one, Brandon Haunter. Nothing that would make him a target. He was the CFO for Hughes Tech, one of the largest technology distributors in Britain, but his net worth wasn’t nearly as high as Emily Hughes. He’s not too well known, outside of friends, family and coworkers. I don’t know why someone is going after them instead of the heads, the people that would take down the company the swiftest way.”

 

“They most likely want it to be a slow death, sometimes killers like to see their victim’s lives crumble around them before actually ending their life.”

 

“Okay, I’ll look into that too. Give me a little bit of time and I will be able to find that for you. Don’t forget that you have more than me, your homeless network stretches to the far reaches of London, probably further. Reach out to them.” She hung up the phone and went back to her computer, trying to find anything and everything related to the victims or the case. She was connecting dots in her head that lead to nowhere, but she finally came to a conclusion.

  
They were in a fairytail with an old-fashioned villain.


	12. Three Steps From The Edge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought about the title and I switched the one on chapter 5. Sorry if there was any confusion, but people usually don't pay attention to chapter titles so hopefully it's not too bad.

[Sherlock’s POV]

 

There was nothing for days, weeks. Then it seemed as if bodies were dropping every other day, each in an odd position. It wasn't until Sherlock inspected the body did he find a small 'D' tattooed on the small of the victims back. He found letters on the other corpses too, spelling out 'DID'. What could it mean? Sherlock would have to wait in order to get the full message, but that would mean letting possibly dozens more people die.

 

Nevertheless, the exact same clues were on each of the victims, despite them being both male and female, all three worked for the financial division in the same company. In the rooms they were murdered in there were zero fingerprints, shoe scuffs. Nothing broken or eaten, even by the victims, they were all killed by drug overdose of cocaine.

 

Lestrade hadn’t wanted to tell him that part, given his past, but Sherlock needed to know details. He would not go back to that life, not that he had John, not now that he was a respected consulting detective, not now when everything (mostly everything) was good.

 

^^^^^

_[Anonymous]_

 

“Sir, is there a new mission?”

 

“Of course, imbecile, I called you here for a reason. Here, Lynda Kosner. Different company, different clues, different cause of death. Different MO. However, make it a ‘Y’ this time. Hopefully Sherly has figured that out already. And as for the cause of death, snap her neck.”

 

“Yes sir. Anything else?”

 

“No, not yet. Keep your phone on you though. And come back tomorrow.”

 

“Of course, sir.”

 

^^^^^

[Sapphire’s POV]

 

Sapphire impatiently tapped her foot as she waited for the other side of the line to pick up.

 

_“Sapphire? What do you need? I am quite busy at the time.”_

 

“Sorry, Mycroft, but I wondering if you gave Matthew another assignment or the day off or something, because he is not here.”

 

_“I did nothing of the sort. If he doesn’t turn up by tomorrow then I’ll search for him. As of yet, it is most likely he stepped out for a moment. For fresh air or maybe a coffee.”_

 

“Alright, goodbye Mycroft.”

 

_“Goodbye.”_

  


An hour later Matthew stepped through the ‘door’ (though there was no actual door) with two bags. Upon further inspection, one bag was filled with Shin Ramyun and potato chips, the other held a two 2 liters of coke.

 

“You do realise I have a job to do right? And where were you?”

 

“At the store, took me forever and a half to find these stupid noodles you love. I thought you could use a day off. You have been working an eight to eleven schedule everyday for the past week. You deserve a break.”

 

“What I deserve and what I need to do are two different things. I have no time for getting sugar highs and crashes. Hey!” Sapphire exclaimed as her laptop was shut.

 

“Get off of that. Eat some chips, drink some soda, watch a movie on your laptop with me. Stop tracking and searching and doing whatever it is you do.” Matthew’s phone went off just then. “I’ll need to be out tonight. Mycroft has me doing a thing for one of his people.”

 

“Okay.” Sapphire said, not letting her suspicions show. Sapphire texted Mycroft that Matthew was back and they did what he said they should. Her caretaker seemed to be on a mission to find a movie to scare her.

  
  


They had spent the last five hours leaning against the subway car watching horror movies and eating salt and vinegar chips and drinking Coca-Cola shots. After she felt her brain start to melt, Sapphire stood.

 

“Okay, yeah. I need some fresh air. I’m going to Speedy’s.”

 

“Alright, text me if you need me.”

 

They had set boundaries, Sapphire needed some form of ‘alone time’ sometimes. A time without someone breathing down her neck. As long as she didn’t go too far, she could be alone.

 

“Hello, Mrs. Hudson.” They had become well acquainted over the weeks, Speedy’s being her usual destination for being alone. “I’ll take my usual tea, please.”

 

“Of course, dearie.” That had become her usual nickname for the teenager. Sapphire had absolutely zero qualms with it, she actually really liked the woman.

 

Mrs. Hudson walked up and placed the cup on the table, then a board, then sat down across from her. Looking up, the younger girl saw it was a chess board.

 

“Business is a bit slow and you looked like you could a brain stimulator.”

 

“No offence, but my brain works alike to Sherlock’s. This is the only game I played with my dad.”

 

“Maybe so, however, Sherlock has been coming to my cafe for years, since he was about...say eleven? Thirteen at most. I played him loads of games, even won a decent amount.”

 

“Okay, black or white, Hudson?” Sapphire asked playfully.

 

“Doesn’t matter to me, dearie, let’s just get it set up.”

 

Soon they were fully involved in a match. It was Mrs. Hudson’s turn when a couple walked up to the counter. The older woman made a move to get up, but Sapphire grabbed her wrist.

 

“Allow me, move your piece. I’ve long since memorized the menu and how to make teas and coffees.” Mrs. Hudson sat back down, and made her move. Sapphire could feel her gaze as she watched the teenager take their orders, money and make the coffees. As she sat back down, the younger saw a move to win.

 

“Bad move, Mrs. Hudson.” She took the king in the next two turns, winning the game. They went like that for hours. Whosever turn it was when customers showed, the other went and took care of them. They ate supper together once they were both getting hungry. It wasn’t until Sapphire started yawning did she notice the time was 8 o’clock. They each said their goodbyes and Sapphire finds that Matthew isn’t there. Right, he had that thing with the people for Mycroft.

 

_Did you send Matthew somewhere not here? -SC_

 

_No, why is he absent again? -MH_

 

_Yes. I am sure he is just getting some air. -SC_

 

_Then why would he say I sent him somewhere? -MH_

 

_I don’t know. I’ll question him in the morning, something tells me he won’t be back until late tonight. -SC_

 

_Very well. Have a pleasant rest, Sapphire. -MH_

  
_You aswell. -SC_


	13. Two Steps From The Edge

[John’s POV]

 

John was worried, worried about Sherlock, about Sapphire (because he knew she was helping with this, but couldn’t get any details). As soon as Sherlock had told him about the connection, he was lost. His boyfriend rarely slept, only getting a few hours whenever he did. They had been on the same case for weeks, Sherlock not giving up the most intriguing case in his experience and John hanging on for the ride. The last time Sherlock had a case this alluring was when Moriarty was still alive, but he shot his own brains out up there on the roof with Sherlock right before he- [ _ MEMORIES, THINK ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE! _ ]. 

 

Right….Moriarty was dead. 

 

The only other person able to give Sherlock this kind of run for his money was The Woman, but John didn’t think she would show her face in London again unless she wanted Mycroft to make her disappear. Murder was never her MO anyway, just things like being in business with the wrong people (Moriarty for example) and having something that made people want to kill her. 

 

So...back to square one. This was obviously somebody whom they had never combatted before. Possibly an imitation of the elusive James Moriarty, as all of the clues were pointing to it. But they had no leads, absolutely none, at least none John knew of. 

 

He never tried to figure out whatever was going on through Sherlock’s head anymore, he stopped trying years ago. Whatever went on in there was a whole other ballpark John didn’t even want to touch on.

 

Anyway, they had no leads. They didn’t even know if the killer was male or female. The last victim had been killed differently, neck snapped to make her look like an owl. Again, there were absolutely zero fingerprints anywhere on the victim or the surrounding area. All evidence lead absolutely nowhere.

 

This was definitely the same MO of the overdose killings. Whoever they were chasing was obviously professional and unwilling to be caught.    
  


* * *

 

Sherlock was going mad by the fifth victim. He was pacing up and down the flat, constantly muttering about letters and codes, cyphers. He had said something to John about letters and messages, and about finding an ‘O’ on the last one, but that was the extent of the conversation. It went on for a couple of days, Sherlock running up and down the flat, only sitting down a couple of times a day for tea or food or rest, though he never stayed asleep for more than one or two hours before he was up and pacing again. 

 

It was definitely strange behavior, even for Sherlock, and John had been watching his companion closely since it started- these fits normally ended in a danger night.

 

Around five o’clock in the afternoon, on the third day after the latest killing, there was a knock on the door to the street. Mrs. Hudson seemed to have answered it before he could even set his cuppa down, so he let her see who was at the door. A muffled conversation was heard from downstairs, where Mrs.Hudson and their visitor exchanged pleasantries, then Sapphire poked her head into the flat. 

 

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything, because I have news.” John made a vague motion for her to come in and sit, which she did. “I believe Matthew is the one killing people.”

 

“Why?” It was the first time Sherlock had said anything clear in days.

 

“Hasn’t he been with you almost 24/7?”

 

“No, actually. He goes off and does things somewhere almost every night. He says he’s doing things for Mycroft, but he says there was no other assignment given. He started doing it the night before the first victim. Every time he has gone out since then a body has shown up somewhere. There’s going to be another one tonight, I don’t know who, I don’t know where, but tonight. By six o’clock tomorrow morning a body will be able to be found.”

 

Sherlock, finally, sat down for a moment. He was staring off into space while Sapphire went into the kitchen to watch John make tea. Handing the teenager a mug, they leaned against the counter and watched Sherlock stare off into space, watching equations and deductions floating around their heads.

 

John looked over and realized Sapphire was almost as tall as him. “Hey, when did you get so tall? I swear you were barely at my chin a few months ago.”

 

“I guess I haven’t seen you in a while. But I have seemed to have hit a growth spurt. It seems I am taking after my mother. Father always said she was tall…” She trailed off with a darkened look on her face. Her green-brown eyes darkened with the remanence of bad memories, but she shook herself out of them before they could pull her under. 

 

Finally, Sherlock popped back into the world, standing and pacing far less angrily than before. “Did you contact Mycroft before making Matthew a suspect and does he know about your suspicions?”

 

“Yes, to both.” Sapphire stated, sitting in the middle of the couch while John took his place in his chair. “He will not be going back to the subway, Mycroft’s men have already removed his stuff. He has been removed from his assignment, but he cannot fire or kill him with a clear consciousness until he is proven guilty, he has simply been reassigned.”

 

“Stay here for a while.” John suggested, Sherlock didn’t seem surprised, they had talked about it. Both of them would feel better knowing they could keep an eye on the girl, she had somehow wiggled her way into their hearts.

 

But Sapphire had froze at the request. “No, thank you. I should be leaving soon enough anyway.”

 

“At least stay to try and place the pieces in order.”

 

Sapphire looked conflicted for a moment, but eventually her features relaxed and she conceded. The two of them talked back and forth while John commented once in a while and refilled their tea when needed. Sherlock bursted into a few rants, but those didn’t last long. Before any of them knew it, it was already eight thirty and Sapphire’s eyes were drooping. 

 

Sherlock soon stopped speaking and watched to see what their visitor would do. 

 

“Go on, I’m listening.” She said through a yawn. 

 

“It’s alright, Sapphire. We can continue tomorrow.” 

 

Sapphire couldn’t argue as he head sagged forward against her will, she was immediately in a deep sleep. John chuckled slightly and stood. 

 

“Should we leave her on the couch or take her up to my old room?” John asked Sherlock quietly.

 

“She would be more comfortable on the bed, but then we risk waking her.” The detective replied. 

 

“Right, bed it is.” John scooped her up with the practiced ease of carrying her sister to bed too many times. Her head was resting on his shoulder, her highlighted brunette hair spread from his shoulder to below his elbow. She was curled towards him, he noticed. Sure enough, once she was up the stairs and on the bed, she curled into a ball on her right side. John then walked over to the desk which was still here and pulled out a small notebook. 

 

_ Sapphire,  _

 

_ You are in 221B Baker Street in my old room. When you wake up, feel free to rummage through the kitchen for breakfast. I hope you have a great sleep.  _

 

_ -John _

 

He left it on the small night stand, then the army doctor walked to the door, looked back once, then turned off the light and closed the door.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock was already in pj’s and in bed when he got back to their room. John slipped out of his socks and trousers and climbed into bed with his love. 

 

“What are we going to do?” Sherlock asked as casually as the question could be asked. “Sapphire’s caught in the middle of this. Matthew is off killing someone as we lay here, but we don’t know who or where in the whole of London. Someone bigger is in play and is trying to send us a message, a long one it seems. All we have is ‘did you’ so far.” John looked at him, brows furrowed in question. “It is the most likely choice, though they will still have to use a victim in order to prove me right.” 

 

Sherlock was getting frustrated, five seconds away from running a hand through his hair and standing to pace again. The doctor held him with the curly nest of hair resting over John’s heart. The detective relaxed. 

 

“Just... try to sleep through it. You are running on two hours right now, for more than three days. And I know you’ve gone with less sleep but….try? For me?”

 

“Fine, but only for you….and maybe Sapphire.”

 

“She really wiggled into our lives, huh?”

 

“I don’t know how, but yes, she did.” 

  
John waited for his partner’s breathing to even out, then fell into a dreamless sleep.


	14. Broke Down

[Sherlock’s POV]

 

Sherlock woke up five hours later at three in the morning, longer than his usual amount of sleep, but not enough to keep John from worrying. He slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb the sleeping form laying there. The detective padded out of the room, moving to the bathroom to relieve himself, then the sitting room to think about the case.

 

As he started to retreat into his mind palace, a heavy thump and yelp of pain was heard from upstairs. Less than five seconds later John was there and sherlock was standing. The moving up the stairs as quickly as they could without falling. 

 

An unusual sight awaited them. Well, unusual to any onlooker or bystander, but not to Sherlock or John. Sherlock had known Sapphire would experience some kind of trauma as soon as he saw her watch his brain splatter on the wall. John had told him about the incident in the hospital, too. She was more upset than she let on, and was a damn good actor. 

 

The girl was sitting shakily in the corner, pale knees tucked to her chest, rocking back and forth. Whispered words were said but he couldn’t make them out. The blankets had come off the bed and were sprawled in her direction. A glance at John confirmed they both knew what most likely happened; she fell off the bed during a nightmare, hurting her wrist, and crawled to the corner, most likely experiencing a panic attack or flashback. 

 

Both of them had had to take care of each other in this sort of event. Sherlock left to the sitting room to play the song (on the violin) he played for John when the war night terrors were a common theme.

 

Nobody came downstairs for at least an hour, so he had played until they did.

 

**\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

[John’s POV]

 

He knew what Sherlock was doing before he heard the music, loud enough to reach his ears, but soft to coax him out of a memory. That same melody had brought him out of many bouts of thrashing and screaming, he would always awake to hear that, any time of night, during any case. If he needed it, Sherlock was there.

 

John looked down at the girl on the floor, who had stopped rocking, but was still shaking minutely. He walked over to her, but she lashed out. Most likely seeing him as a foe and not a friend. So don’t touch her, okay. She still hadn’t looked up yet.

 

“Sapphire, I want you to listen to me, whatever you’re seeing is not real. I am real, listen to my voice and come back to me.”

 

Her head snapped up, looking like a kid her age when one was scared and upset. “D-dad? I thought y-you were d-dead.”

 

She wasn’t seeing him, not yet. She was seeing her father before he died. A shaky hand reached out to him, a smile gracing her features. 

 

“Sapphire, is it okay for me to touch your arm?”

 

She looked confused, “Of course, why do you have to….” Her face morphed into a look of pure terror, she grabbed a hold of his chin and turned it sideways. She most likely would have screamed if John hadn’t pulled her close. She sobbed into his shoulder, much like at the hospital. They stayed there for a while, John didn’t know how long, but they let the soothing violin sounds wash over them as Sapphire fully came out of her hellish trance.

 

**\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

[Sapphire’s POV]

 

She was back in that warehouse, hand tied behind her while she slept on a chair and was only let up for food and to relieve herself, once a day and at the same time. He father was there, telling her they’d get out safe, they’d have nothing to worry about. It was a stupid rich kid and who had made a stupid decision and they would make it out, together. A video camera was placed in front of them and words were exchanged, but Sapphire heard none of them, between the pounding of her heart in her ears and the gibberish they were speaking, it was easy to ignore.

 

Suddenly, pain exploded in her wrist. She had somehow fallen off the chair, to the ground. The girl started crawling towards the corner, trying to make herself seem as small as she could make herself. Why had they not stopped her? Did they not notice their prisoner crawling away from them in some pitiful attempt to escape? Or was she simply not worth their time?

 

Thumps, she heard thumps making their way towards her, but paid them no mind when a bullet started making its way slowing into her father’s skull, which she couldn’t do a thing to stop. She hid her face in her knees as the door opened, and nothing happened for a while. She refused to see who it was, probably another tormentor she hadn’t even seen yet. Maybe this one would torture her, maybe her entire life after being rescued was some sort of strange fantasy. 

 

Something touched her, she flinched. She felt bad as the gentle caress on her shoulder disappeared, whoever it was, they weren’t trying to hurt her. 

 

“Sapphire, I want you to listen to me, whatever you’re seeing is not real. I am real, listen to my voice and come back to me.” A familiar voice sounded. 

 

She swiftly looked up, Matthew Franklin Clark was kneeling in front of her, looking exactly as he had been before the whole mess started. 

 

“D-dad? I thought y-you were d-dead.” Could it have really been all one crazy dream? A dark, elaborate nightmare to tell her father in the morning? She held out her hand to trace the lines on a face she had longed to see.

 

“Sapphire, is it okay for me to touch your arm?” 

 

“Of course, why would you…”

 

No. It wasn’t a dream. That was clear when a dark red hole appeared in front and blood dripped down his face and onto her hand. 

 

_ What? Something on my face or something? _

 

His lips hadn’t moved, but his voice had been heard clearly through her head. Sapphire gently gripped his chin to turn his head, and gasped. The back of his head was gone, blown off like it had been when he was shot. 

 

She is pulled into a hug, they stay there for minutes, hours, they don’t know. Soon, though, she is pulled back a little. Just a miniscule amount to see each other’s face. 

 

The teenager sucked in a breath, and let it out slowly. In front of her was John. John Hamish Watson. Trustworthy, loyal, soldier John. She pulls him back into a hug, burying her face in his neck. 

 

She doesn’t let him pull away again when he tries. He huffs a small laugh. “Don’t you want to make sure Sherlock doesn’t go out of his mind?”

 

Sapphire looks around the room thoughtfully, then goes back to her original position. “Carry me?” She asked, really not wanting to leave the safety and comfort of John’s arms. 

 

“Yeah, okay.”

 

John lifted them both off the ground in a would-be bridal style hold if Sapphire wasn’t holding onto his neck, still burying her face in his shoulder.

 

They trudged down the stairs together, Sapphire hadn’t felt this protected since she was a little girl, no more than seven or eight, last time her dad had carried her to her room was when she fell asleep in the car. 

 

They made it down the stairs, listening as the calming melody played through their descent. John carried her through the door to the main part of the flat. Sherlock set down his violin as soon as they opened the door. He didn’t walk towards, them, but it was clear he and John were communicating silently. John sat on the couch, letting her drape over him, Sherlock soon sat next to his boyfriend, Sapphire’s legs resting atop his own. 

  
She fell asleep to them casually conversing their past cases, though all three of them knew the stories. She was happy, and for the first time since the wretched incident, she had no nightmares. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for all the POV changes, but I did my best to look good


	15. You Broke Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the late update, but I was away from the computer without any ideas for too long. I am back in school as well now so I might be later than usual.

[Sherlock’s POV] 

 

Sherlock had known there were going to be traumatic repercussions when he first saw Matthew Clark being shot. He knew Sapphire was likely to have nightmares and flashbacks. He didn’t expect the night to be completely silent, save the thump that had alerted them, until you were in close quarters with the girl. Considering the layout of the subway she lived in, there was no elevated bed to fall out of. 

 

Mycroft had described her living space and given him access to the first cameras, the ones Sapphire had taken down. He knew it was a two cart subway and one side was used for sleep. He knew that all the benches from both sides had been folded down and flat to be one giant bed in one of the carts, and the other had an old desk and some other office things from the control and security rooms surrounding the main area.

 

Sherlock could only guess Sapphire had made some sort of space down the middle to separate hers and Matthew’s beds. Her ‘kitchen’ was a bunsen burner and a toaster in the corner of her office, while her fool was stored in the filing cabinets. She mostly bought dry items, only buying the refrigerated ones when she would eat it all that day.

 

All in all, it was a good set up. Definitely something she could live in for years if she could keep a job and therefore receive a paycheck, which she did. She had gone to the right place (221B) and demanded to the right person (Sherlock) to give her a job. She hadn’t asked for anything more than was necessary, nor had she tried to lie to him about anything. Sapphire had done her research and gotten what she wanted, knowing what to say and when she would need to say it.

 

And now? Now he had seen her at her most vulnerable. It was entirely likely that she would shy away from one or both of them now. John had told him what had happened after Sherlock went to play his beloved instrument. Now the detective knew it took a bit of contact and music for the hellish visions to leave. 

 

He should have known Sapphire would be a complex person, even in her traumas. She was raised to be. With someone as superstitious as her father was, it was no surprise she would be near impossible to predict. It served correctly to see she needed both techniques used at 221B.

 

Sapphire, now sleeping across both his and John’s legs, seemed more peaceful than Sherlock had ever seen her. Granted, he only saw her in meetings, on a tape where she was  _ kidnapped _ and discussing someone who was looking to possibly kidnap her. They still needed to plan for that. 

 

Sapphire couldn’t stay at 221B forever, not without alerting the people killing. And Sherlock didn’t want her anywhere near the murderer, but he had to put her in close quarters with a suspect in order for her  _ not _ to be in too much trouble. Sapphire was in danger, but that was nothing new. There was always the possibility of one of her trackers being found and traced to Baker Street, but that was why she was underground.

 

Most people don’t know the sewer and old subway systems, at least not to the extent the teenager knew. The way she had set herself up, any unwanted visitors could arrive and she would be gone with her phone and laptop. She would be able to arrive at the surface five miles away from baker street, if you followed the roads above ground, in less than five minutes. 

 

Not to mention the contacts she now had. A fourteen year old girl could have the entire british government on her side with one phone call. Sherlock would never believe Sapphire would do something incriminating, at least when not for the greater good, and be caught. There was never an absolute certainty that someone would never work for the enemy, even unintentionally, but the detective was confident that Sapphire would never be caught.

  
She had pickpocketed both Mycroft and Sherlock.  _ Both _ Mycroft and Sherlock. She was only caught because she was in the same vicinity as both brothers and had optionally given Sherlock his phone back. He would’ve been none the wiser had she not. The teenager could already have a new identity in America before he noticed his phone was missing. 

 

Sapphire woke again around nine-thirty in the morning. By that time Sherlock and John had slid her off their lap and were back to doing their everyday routines. While Sherlock was doing his thumb experiments and John was making eggs and toast, Sapphire woke up and walked to the kitchen. John, unsurprisingly, was the first one to notice.

 

“Oh, hello, Sapphire. Did you sleep well?”

 

“Uh, yeah. Hey, John, is there any way I imagined what happened last night? Or did I really freak out on you?” There was such hope and desperation on her face for him to say the first one, for John to lie to her and tell her nothing happened.    
  


Sherlock realized this was what he must have looked like before John. Before he started letting at least one person see him, actually  _ see _ him. Before anybody outside of family could look at him and know something was wrong, or if he was frustrated before the point of pulling out his hair. Before he let somebody take care of him, forcing him to sleep and eat and shower and wear clothes around the house. Before someone unrelated to him had  _ wanted to _ .

 

John wasn’t going to give her what she was begging him to say. Wasn’t going to play it off like it hadn’t happened, like he was ignorant to the whole situation. Four or five years ago he might’ve, but now he’d seen and lived through what denying traumas did.

 

John turned back towards the stove, breaking up the eggs before they could burn and transferring them to a plate. “No, it happened. I am absolutely positive it did. You are going to tell either me or Sherlock what you remember about it and get it out of your system for the first time in almost a year. But first, eat your breakfast and wake up, drink some tea or coffee if that’s your thing in the mornings, but relax for a bit. Mycroft knows where you are, you are going to take a day off. I’ll tell you what I tell Sherlock when he goes on like this; sit down and eat your breakfast before you starve to death and we are going to watch some doctor who where you can talk through it all and point out the scientific inaccuracies. Got it?”

  
Sapphire just nodded and sat, not saying anything except asking for some tea. She poured herself the orange juice from the table, too, and ate her breakfast in silence. No other words were exchanged during the meal. Once they had all finished, John and Sherlock sat in their respective chairs and Sapphire laid down across the couch to tell them what happened most nights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like it. I don't know when I'll get the next one out, but I'll do my best to get on that ASAP. I wanted to post this tonight, so I didn't get to edit it and now I have to shower and go to sleep. Ah, sleep. Nature's ecstasy XD


	16. Shoulda Known Betters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go, a bit late, I apologize for the inconvienience.

[Sapphire’s POV]

 

Sapphire was embarrassed. She had never been caught in a nightmare, except by her father. With Matthew, she had her own bed-type area and wouldn’t wake her up, but she should have known. The teenage girl thought if she fell off, she would wake up and be able to play it off like she wasn’t used to sleeping on a bed, she had fallen asleep on the couch, yes, but John would have taken her upstairs.

 

There was an empty room, unused but untouched save for the wardrobe and maybe some personal items when John moved into Sherlock’s room. The couch, while comfortable, was nowhere near as comfortable to sleep in as a bed, a memory foam mattress at that. And John, being the upstanding, everybody-loves-him guy he is, would take Sapphire to the empty bedroom because it was more comfortable and he saw her as his responsibility, he might even see himself as her caretaker while she’s there. 

 

So she sat. She sat and she ate and drank her tea. The teenager tried to make herself smaller, tried to disappear from the atmosphere. She didn’t want to open up, even if the experts said it helped, even if John and Sherlock said it helped. Sapphire had grown up being taught how not to trust people, but not to let them know you don’t trust them. This would be showing her biggest weaknesses to people she didn’t  _ really _ know. It was completely against the rules of her upbringing. 

 

But when was the last time she listened to all those rules anyway? Hell, five months ago she was breaking almost every rule in his hand-bound book. She respected her father, heaven, hell and everything in between knew that. But that didn’t mean she had to be a perfect child. 

 

After she ate, and John was finished with his oatmeal and Sherlock was finished with his two pieces of toast, the doctor gathered the plates to wash.

 

“Okay, kids, and Sherlock you act too much like a kid to argue that, I need to go to work. Sapphire, I expect you to either have talked to Sherlock or talk to me when I get back, which should be around four or five, but you never know what with late patients and absent doctors. But still, Saph, talk about it.”

 

“I will.”

 

“Okay. Bye, love.” He kissed Sherlock’s head. “Bye, kiddo.” John ruffled the teenager’s head before heading out the door.

  
  


Hours passed. Sapphire wasn’t allowed to leave until she talked to Sherlock, or waited for John to get home and talked to John. 

 

In all honesty, she would rather get it over with with Sherlock. John was an amazing doctor, and could remain professional with patients, but it was the little things. The small gasps and micro expressions that made her go to his boyfriend. Because while he may seem incapable of feelings, he was only taught to give off that feeling. He had grown up in a household almost like hers, being taught how not to get caught, and being rewarded when you break your own record when young. At least, that was how she assumed he grew up

 

That was how she grew up, as she has said before and will say again, Matthew Clark was a superstitious, borderline crazy (in a fun way), man. He would teach Sapphire seemingly bizarre things, but those things had actually come in handy in the past nine months. Navigating the sewer system, cleaning out the place she now lived in, becoming really good with computers. She wouldn’t have a job with Sherlock if she couldn’t do those things, wouldn’t have had money after the...incident that left her alone in the world. While she might’ve wanted friends (no one her age liked her anyway, some adults too), she was just fine on her own. Friends were just there to stab you in the back anyway, like Matthew had done. 

 

These things she was taught, they had come in handy more than three times in the past nine months, and knowing her, they would again in the next week.

 

So, as it was, she sat in front of Sherlock. They hadn’t spoken, Sherlock not wanting to push and Sapphire gathering her….not courage. Everyone knew she had enough courage to give it away like a soup kitchen and still have plenty to keep. Nothing would stop her from running into a burning building or jumping in front of a serial killer to save one of her so very few loved ones. 

 

With a bit of reluctance, she finally admitted to herself that she included Sherlock and John in that certain room in her imaginary world. Like Sherlock’s mind palace, but hers was more like a university. A place for learning instead of storing information. Or maybe a little bit of both, like a library. A place full of knowledge, and always capable of learning and storing more. But she did didn’t like to have people in that classroom, books in that set of shelves, because they added to the list of vulnerability someone, anyone, could use against her. She liked to limit their options, and after her father died, they were limited  _ severely _ .

 

As Sapphire thought about this, and her nightmares, especially her nightmares, from the night before, she realized she would have to tell him, them, for their own safety. They would worry, knowing them, knowing how much trust went into not only letting someone sleep on your couch, but to take them to your old room is a sign of care. You’re not a drunk friend who passed out or just a colleague needed a place to stay the night, you’re someone they care about. Someone they would want to sleep comfortably. 

 

All in all, they both would worry about her mental state. She could sneak out, quite easily, too. But they would find her -that sounded creepy, she meant they would meet again at some point...better- and one of two things would happen. 

 

One- she would deny it being a regular thing and they would trust that it was an anomaly, against better judgement, and not bring it up again. But in the back of their mind they would know it was something that was going on almost every night and they would be powerless to try and fix it (or at least help her through it). It would eat at their subconscious, always feeling like they could help with something but not knowing what was wrong.

 

Two- she would deny it being a regular thing and they wouldn’t believe her. They would insist she stay close and not venture after anyone dangerous (well...they already did that last one. But she wouldn’t have any freedom and as much as it would pain Sherlock and John, they would consider her as safe as she would allow herself to be (the safest of all being, living in an underground bunker, never going outside again and having a lifetime supply of food and water. And that was never happening).

 

Not to mention the strain it would have on the adult’s relationship. There would constantly be fights and arguments about whether they were doing the right thing, in the beginning the fights would end with reassurances and cuddle sessions, but it would progress to sleeping on the couch or in John’s old room. John would start having to take walks to avoid saying something he  _ really _ didn’t mean. And while John sometimes had to leave, they didn’t happen nearly as often as they would.

 

There might be a third option. One of them (most likely John) would believe her because he didn’t think she would lie, the other wouldn’t. Or they both wouldn’t know which they believed. They would drive themselves mad trying to find out whether Sapphire was really alright like she said. Their mental states would most likely devolve with worry, stress and anxiety over someone close to them. 

 

That is- assuming they cared that much. 

  
So yes. She would have to tell them, most likely everything. Or at least one of them, they would share information. She would have to tell them what they already knew (the kidnapping) and what they didn’t (the how and the aftermath). Sapphire took a deep breath, Sherlock looked up from his (John’s) laptop and put it aside, and she started talking. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger, aren't those fun? Well I wouldn't call it a cliffhanger, I would call it me itching to post and buying time to go to the next part. Not to mention I need to update my other stories.
> 
> Comment down below! I love hearing from you guys


	17. Sticks And Stones

[First Person POV (Sapphire)]

 

Sherlock thought he knew what happened; Mom left when I was young, then I was raised with a superstitious dad who makes me paranoid, dad dies in front of me and I get nightmares about it. The End.

 

He didn’t know, not the whole story. 

 

My mother, Adeline Clark, walked out on me the second she was fit to walk. She was driven home from the hospital by her brother, and they never sent a penny of child care, nor was there any paperwork, beyond DNA, that linked the mother and child together. 

 

Both Sherlock and I doubted there was even Adeline’s DNA in the database. 

 

After losing my mother, father did his best he could. We rarely went on vacations or to amusement parks, but I had always found it more fun to follow my father through work, namely studying people and their behaviors. I would go with him almost every day, once I reached the age of five. I was a quiet kid, which happened the only reason they allowed me to be at the workplace. 

 

Matthew had tried to send me to public school, but had trouble picking me up, that and I came home almost everyday not having learned a thing, and could read before I even started school (Matthew’s mother, Gladys, had taught me while watching me, while Matthew was at work). I was bullied by the older kids, too. They were only in second or third grade, but they had really been mean to me in my young mind.

 

So, to the desk job I went, every single day. Waking up at eight and going to bed at ten. I did my studies there and didn’t interrupt my father’s work. Nothing could have been better.

 

One day, when I was around eleven, Matthew wanted me to get out more, saying I looked too pale and could use the sunlight. So the next day, instead of reading or drawing when I finished my studies, I decided to go to lunch with some of my father’s work friends. He trusted them enough and I had a tracker in my necklace, so he was comfortable. 

 

I had always brought a lunch, and I didn’t want to make his colleagues pay, so I kept doing that, just from a cafe instead of a break room. 

 

By the time I was twelve my father had had me writing sophisticated essays (always focussing on math and science first then moving to the stuff I would learn just by doing what would did), and my favorite one was the essay I wrote at thirteen years old, the one about heroes and role models. The one about Sherlock Holmes. 

 

I read and wrote about every single case John Hamish Watson posted on his blog, I still had it framed in my backpack, back at the old tube tunnel. But I learned how he made his deductions, what he looked for and how he looked for things and how they connected to other things. I started reading newspapers while waiting for my college applications to return, I tried to solve the crimes before the culprit was caught printed. I saw my mistakes and fine tuned them.

 

My father was off on weekends, unless there was a big story to cover, and we usually went out to dinner. On my fourteenth birthday, my father let me mull over evidence and find connections. I sent an anonymous tip to the police and told them to ask Mr. William Sherlock Holmes about the husband’s brother, the one who was questioned and had lied. Eventually, the world’s only consulting detective had caught the killer and it had happened as Sapphire had expected. 

 

That case was what led to the turning point in Sapphire’s life. Two weeks later, two men had snuck into their small flat and taken myself and Matthew Clark.

 

After a week of torture, them trying to figure out the rat in their crime ring, how they had known who the killer was, they, Thomas Greenland and ‘Ace’, shot Matthew, the only person who had ever loved me, even liked me. 

 

I tried to send a message in the video, knowing it was supposed to go to the Scotland Yard, and a few days later John Watson rushed into the room, along with DI Lestrade and some other officers. I was led out, questioned, checked by paramedics, then I ran off to my little hole in the wall, or ground really. 

 

I lived for months with just what had been in our cupboards and what money we -I- had stashed. I ate whatever I could sneak down into the tube from the flat until they boarded it up, then I bought the essentials from Tesco’s. 

 

Until I met the person I had looked up to my entire life, whose significant other’s blog I’d been reading for the past six and a half years. Met officially, not just an introduction after a case well solved. I had a steady(ish) income, wasn’t completely homeless and I chased around criminals for fun. I was living the life I had always wanted to live, though without the one person I would always love.

 

My nightmares started not long after the bank scene. That one bullet wound, the gunshot and the wound. The blood from Sherlock’s shoulder dripping onto the ground, the bandage in the hospital, the scar I had recieved a glance of when he was pulling on his jacket. All because of me. All because I had to run into a damned bank, because I couldn’t just tell them where and when something would take place.

 

Sherlock was shot because I couldn’t trust other people to be in charge, all because I needed to have a piece of the action. I couldn’t just phone them in, I had to go in there and get a fucking semi-automatic pointed at Sherlock! I just had to go and put all those people in danger.

 

IT WAS SO SELFISH!!!

 

(Sapphire could tell her brain was starting to deteriorate at the memories, she takes a deep breath and start again) 

 

So that was when the nightmares began. Easy to hide from my new shadow/assistant, mostly because he woke up late and was really bad at paying attention. Curiously named the same as my father, and chosen by Mycroft.

 

Nightmares usually consisted of one of two things, my father being shot in the forehead or Sherlock being shot in the shoulder. The last one was the biggest I’d ever had, a combination of the two.

 

I had always been quiet when I sleep. No sleep talking or screams in a nightmare, just the occasional rustle of sheets when I started tossing and turning around in the bed. Up until this point, I had been sleeping in a subway with walls on either side, with no chance of falling or waking anybody else.

 

It wasn’t like I  _ wanted _ or  _ expected _ to fall asleep, it was more like my subconscious launched itself full-frontal into an attack on my sanity. Before I knew it I was on the ground- floor, a nice hardwood floor -and Matthew Jamison Clark was in front of me. I could reach out and touch him another time, just one more time, so I did. 

 

I held his face in my hands like he had done after a nightmare, or after she finally told him about those damn bullies on the playground. I got to touch, to hold, to be with the only person who had ever truly loved me. 

 

Then it happened. 

 

Chunks of brain started falling out. The entire back of his head wasn’t there. A hole formed in his forehead. I screamed, I cried, I denied everything I was seeing. 

 

Until I saw John there. John, who was kind enough to carry me to his old room just so I could sleep comfortably. John, who offered his empty room to ne like it was as simple as ordering an extra water at the table. John, who was so oblivious to the connections but so perceptive to so much that people like Sherlock missed. Like when things were bothering people, like when something was just a bit off with a person, like when someone just needed a distraction to keep them from doing something they shouldn’t. But also John, the military man who demanded I tell them everything. The one who stopped Sherlock’s bleeding before the ambulance arrived with just some hand sanitizer and a scarf.

 

Then there was Sherlock. Sherlock, who would play his violin nonstop to calm someone down, without even being in the room with them. Sherlock, who could tell what was wrong as soon as he knew something _was_ indeed wrong. Sherlock, who took a bullet for me, literally. Sherlock, who was listening to me ramble on and on about my sad life. Sherlock, who made me feel safe. Who I had looked up to since I had first heard about him.

  
They both made absolutely sure I was alright, not just saying I was. They made me do things I didn’t want to do, just because they cared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like first person POV's usually, but I couldn't figure out another way and still have it make sense. Tell me if it was good or if I should never do that again because it will bring down the world or, ya know, whatever.


	18. If You Hurt Her

[Sherlock’s POV]

 

Sherlock was surprised, to say the least. The girl in front of him had experienced things he had seen in victims, even in the killers he caught. Parents dying a horrifying death in front of you, being bullied and basically hid from the world, yet she came out mostly sane and safe to be around. By the end of her story she was smiling, tears having long dried since she told of her father’s death. 

 

Sherlock, by nature, was not a very social person. He wasn’t a fan of a lot of physical contact and tended not to do well in social conventions, years of being alone stayed with him, so he was usually just standing there, waiting whoever dragged him there to meet with him again so he could leave. 

 

But, by the end of her story, Sherlock couldn’t stop himself from reaching forward and gathering Sapphire in his lap, offering comfort like you would a small animal or a toddler, not a teenager. But something told the detective she hadn’t had much of it in her lifetime. As much as her father had to work and with burying herself in studies, there wasn’t a lot of time for emotional moments.

 

It wasn’t that Matthew Clark didn’t care about her, he was just doing everything he could to make sure she had somewhere to sleep, clothes to wear and food to eat. They lived in a world of neither luxury nor poverty, but in the thin space between the lines where there was stability. Matthew had done everything he could for his daughter, teaching her how to take care of herself, predicting a situation like this. That was probably why Sapphire had so much trouble forming new relationships and expanding old ones. She had spent so much time alone that she didn't know how. 

 

It reminded Sherlock of the time before he met John, before that first cab ride when John called his deductions brilliant, the first person to ever do that, to prove to Sherlock there were still good people in the world. 

 

Sapphire hadn't had that. Not yet, at least. She was only shown the bad side of people when she was young, then was only around adults, never being able to make a friend. 

 

Sherlock knew, he knew because he had gone through the exact same thing. The detective's mother and father were always working, leaving only Mycroft and a nanny to look after Sherlock. The nanny left when he was only ten, and Mycroft left for college when the younger Holmes was twelve. His only friend in the world had left him for the government, then procede to 'protect' him by kidnapping and bribing every person Sherlock acquainted himself with. 

 

John stuck with him throughout. John was heartbroken when he jumped off the roof at St. Barts, he still couldn't take a step near there without keeping a hand on Sherlock. John loved him when he came back. John moved into Sherlock's room. John was everything Sherlock could ever hope for, and more. 

 

Mrs. Hudson was second down the list. She was the aunt Sherlock never had the chance to meet. She did everything in her power to keep him happy and alive, in terms of taking care of himself. Sherlock couldn't ask for a better landlady, a better friend. He wouldn't want one anyway. 

 

Gregory Lestrade was Sherlock's savior. His first friend, before Mrs. Hudson and John, Lestrade picked him up off the street and made him get clean. He was the reason Sherlock was living under Mrs. Hudson's roof with John by his side. Sherlock was forever grateful for that, and he showed it in concern when Greg did get hurt, when Sherlock didn't make it in time. He showed his gratitude in leaving soup in his hospital room with instructions for the nurse on how long to heat it up after how long it is left out. 

 

Sherlock's thoughts were roaming, but his point still stood. Sapphire needed these people in her life, or she would end up like Sherlock had, but without a John to steer him in the right path. She probably wouldn't do drugs, as she seemed to make a mental pro and con list of every action she took, but Sherlock could see her taking the same roads he did, maybe even becoming killer, like what Donovan said would happen to Sherlock on that first case with John. 

 

No. He would be here for her, and it seemed John had already formed an attachment, so she was going to be on the right track if he could help it. Sherlock would give her all the support she needed, if only she would accept it. 


	19. Never Treat A Girl Like That

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably my favorite chapter, because I can finally reveal what I've been sitting on for the past month

[Sapphire’s POV]

 

Sapphire ended up going back to 221B every night. Matthew wasn’t there anymore, and the bed was much more comfortable, so the subway was used mostly as an office space. That was probably her biggest mistake. Developing a routine, not knowing the exact layout of everything, getting comfortable in the spaces she called home.

 

One day, after an argument with Sherlock while John was at work, Sapphire was storming into the subway with the intent of sleeping there. She knew something was wrong when the power was off, streetlights had been on, so someone took it away. It wasn’t Sherlock, he wouldn’t be that mad, as to take away her sense of safety.

 

“Hello, Sapphire.” A rich feminine voice said from the shadows. “I think it’s time we finally met.” A sharp prick in her neck and the world went dark.

  
  


Sapphire Clark woke up when ice cold water drenched her entire body. She was in a warehouse and tied to a chair, eerily similar to the events a year before. Except this time, she felt like she was floating. 

 

Cocaine, a common drug to be used in kidnappings and highly addictive. It kept the victim in a space of consciousness, but lacking the availability of your brain. 

 

She was shaken out of her drug-fogged thoughts with a slap. There was a woman standing above her. She was dressed in a nice suit and her hair was braided down her back. 

 

“Well, well, well. Look who’s awake. Do you like that thing we gave you? It was one of the old mixtures Sherlock used to use. I’m sure you’re here enough to know who that is, right? About yay tall, dark hair, deep voice.” She asked, said, really.

 

“Of course I know who he is. I’ve read his cases before.” Sapphire spat at her.

 

“Oh, honey, I know. Actually, you have been more than  _ reading _ his cases, haven’t you? You’ve been doing some tracking, some following, even stopped a robbery-to-be. I applaud you for that, I really do. Being able to correctly predict a person’s next steps have been a common talent in my family. We were almost trained to do it automatically, like a chess game. People really are as expendable as pawns, you know. If you have to get rid of a few to win? Fine. But there’s always the queen. That one person you could never get rid of. The one who your opponent wants to take down almost more than you, sometimes a lot more. By taking out that one piece, you fall at a disadvantage. At least that’s how I’ve always played. What about you, Sapphire, do you play?”

 

“I do.”

 

“Then you know what your most important piece is. Maybe yours has already been stolen from you. Mine certainly was, and I’d trade any of these silly little pawns to get mine back. But this world, unfortunately, does not function like a game of chess. Once you lose your queen, they are gone forever, and killing off pawns doesn’t change that.”

 

“One question. What is your name? And your real name, please, no aliases.”

 

“Oh, my name is Skye, actually. Skye Coraline Moriarty.”

 

Sapphire’s face paled. 

 

“You, actually, may have heard of me. Poor little Matthew may have mentioned me. Matthew Clark, that is. He may have mentioned me under the name of Adeline Clark?”

 

Sapphire’s face grew into a glare as she stared into the eyes of the woman she had always wanted to kick (at the very least). “Mother.” She ground out.

 

**\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

[Sherlock’s POV]

 

The argument had been stupid, as are most arguments with Sherlock Holmes. They had disagreed on whether the disembodied fingers should be stored in the microwave (in a tupperware, as they had agreed) or the refrigerator. It was right after a case where a child had been murdered and all he could think about was Sapphire being in those pictures, with a letter tattooed somewhere on her body, just to get the code. 

 

They knew what the code was. ‘Did you miss me’ was what Moriarty said, and it was certainly his style. Hiding clues on purpose, having someone on the inside do his dirty work, the body drop, he had almost gotten off on it. Now someone was copying him, or he had never died, because they were doing it flawlessly.

 

It was a different person, Sherlock knew, because James would have come out and inserted himself just to ‘check up’ on Sherlock, one of the reasons he was so easy to catch, it was holding him that was the problem. 

 

Now, Sherlock was regretting his decision to argue, because not only had Sapphire been right, but she had stormed off. The detective did go look for her, but she was nowhere to be found. Not in Speedy’s nor in what was now her room, not that he suspected she would be there anyways. That left two places for her to head, the subway she had lived in for months, and John’s work. John would’ve called by now if she had gone there, so he checked the subway. 

 

The old tube station was a mess since the last anybody had been in there for more than two house, almost a month now. Sherlock tried the electricity, and found that it worked without even the slightest shock escaping. He found the clothes she hadn’t brought up yet, the bunsen burner, the computer setup on the screensaver, but no Sapphire. 

 

The computer screen clicked on suddenly, showing a gloved hand holding a needle. The hand moved to show  ~~ his ~~ the girl tied to a chair, much like how he had first seen her. He watched as she was injected with whatever had been in the needle, a concoction Sherlock recognized, the same drug that had ruined his life for a time. 

  
The same mixture of cocaine he had used, the same one he had been addicted to, the same one he still got cravings for. They were using it on  ~~ his ~~ this little girl. (A/N Roll credits- I watch way too much cinemasins)


	20. But You Fucking Hurt Her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably my favorite chapter and the most fun to write so far. Also, this is coming to and end soon. As much as I want it to continue one, I have other things I need to convert to digital and post

[Sapphire’s POV]

 

The woman, Skye as she would now be known, smiled. “Ah, yes. What a deep burning hatred you must feel for me, after all, I did abandon you, after all, didn’t I?” 

 

Sapphire said nothing, she was just trying to clear the haze from her mind. 

 

“Oh, a silent one, aren’t we? Well, you were no such thing as silent when I tried to sleep. I bring you into the world and all you do is cry. Well, why would anybody want that, I was simply doing as I wished.”

 

More silence followed.

 

“I always knew you would be a difficult child, no matter what all you need it more.  _ More _ time with Matthew,  _ more _ studies,  _ more  _ this  _ more  _ that. You really are so greedy and desperate for companions, I mean, you now consider yourself  _ friends _ with Sherlock. Sherlock bloody Holmes! Do you really believe you mean anything to him? Walk into his apartment and demand a job, a job doing what he is already paying  _ real _ homeless people to do! But what damage would his reputation suffer if the public were to know that he turned down helping a small, innocent child just because he didn’t want to? What would happen then? Well he would lose his supporters, cases from the blog wouldn’t come nearly as often and it would be all your fault. All. Your. Fault.” She punctuated as she left the room. 

 

Sapphire, with the happy go-lucky feeling of the high wearing off, broke down crying. In her right mind, she would’ve spat at her mother, and known the drugs affected the hormones of the body, screwing up her emotions and this was the low. She knew she would get another dose soon, they most likely wanted her to get addicted, for some reason or another, and she wasn’t yet, going from the withdrawal symptoms, or lack thereof. 

  
  


**\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

[Sherlock’s POV]

 

It didn’t take long for Sherlock to figure out they were streaming the feed live, or for him to call Lestrade and John. Lestrade and others from NSY arrived ten minutes later, believing Sherlock when he said ‘urgent’, and John was there ten minutes after that. Anderson dusted for fingerprints and, after finding none, moved on to everywhere else. The stream was still alive, so the laptop was moved to Baker Street, that way, Sherlock could watch it uninterrupted and try to get clues from the video.

 

As it was, the laptop was on the coffee table, Sherlock and John sitting side by side on the couch. They watched Sapphire slumped over, asleep, for ten minutes before her kidnappers poured a bucket of water on her. She jerked awake and glared with dilated pupils at the woman in the room. 

 

The detective was surprised when she said her name, immediately making the connection that she was the criminal’s sister, seeing as she was too young to be his mother. But when she stated her alias, his eyes went wide. His theory was confirmed with Sapphire’s admission of ‘mother’, spat out with disgust. 

 

Why would Sapphire’s mother kidnap her? Especially while taking the same actions as her previous captors had, twelve months ago. It was obvious that the wanted her to relive the traumatic moments that ruined her life, as proven by the woman, Skye’s, monologue. Her ‘queen’, as she had stated, was most likely her brother, seeing as he was ‘taken away’ fairly recently. 

 

Was she implying that she had taken part in Matthew’s murder? Maybe even set it up? Sherlock added that to the list of charges they would pin on the entire Moriarty organization. He shook his head and turned his attention back to the stream. Sapphire broke down as soon as a heavy door had closed. The three of them knew what was going to happen. This was the low after the high, she would be getting another dose and be happy as could be. 

 

But what surprised him the most about the whole affair was what Skye had told her about him to upset her. She was crying because of what he might think of her. None of it was true, of course, but this was all to play with Sapphire’s emotions. Skye was using what those important to Sapphire to break down her self esteem, it seemed like it was working, at least as she was working off the drugs. 

 

He stayed there watching for hours. Long after Lestrade told them there was no prints, long after John went to bed and woke up in the morning. He stayed awake and ignored the food set out for him, he didn’t get out of that position for twenty four hours, until his eyes were drooping from not only that stretch of wakefulness but the period when he was working on an earlier case. 

 

John eventually made him eat, shower and go to bed, at three in the afternoon. John was in bed with him, the laptop open so someone could always be watching. The hardest parts to watch were when they doped their little girl up and when they broke her down. 

 

Three days after they found the stream, Lestrade called them in to look at the case files. Sherlock solved it on the second day, after reading it over three hundred times. He ran all over London, checking all the warehouses he knew of and looking for more. 

 

It was only appropriate that it was in the same warehouse as last time, but it still took a full day to get the paperwork ready and legally search it, seeing as someone had bought it out, even with Mycroft’s resources. 

 

As they were waiting, Sherlock wasn’t being completely unproductive, writing up the paperwork he’d wanted to have for a while. He and John had talked it over while eyeing the stream, they had both wanted it and both agreed.

  
Sherlock and Mycroft gathered their paperwork while John and the officers got prepared for what they needed to do. This was going to be a hard on Sapphire’s emotions again, just like the first time, they just hopes she would accept their help.


	21. Hammer Pulled Back

[Sapphire’s POV]

 

She was addicted, she knew it. It had been three days of an almost constant high, of course she was. But Sapphire knew something was off about today. Something would happen, she could feel it, like horses can act weird before a tornado, that was how she felt. 

 

Skye had almost gotten her to believe what she said, about Sherlock and John and how she ruined their lives. The downs had become worse than the first one. She would end up sobbing until she fell asleep, however little time she got, slumped in the chair. Sapphire smiled the day she heard gunshots upstairs, as out of it as she was. 

 

It took the police little over ten minutes to deal with whatever was going on above them. The weirdest thing was Skye came rushing in with a body-builder type of guy, untying her even though it was too late for them to get out. Sapphire knew this, Skye knew this, even body-builder knew this. 

 

She figured out her mother’s plan; suicide by cop.

 

Skye Moriarty had been talking about losing her chess piece on the first day………..Sapphire thought. Or was it the second day? Whatever, she said it. That might refer to James, her brother. She was going to go out with a bang, doing as much damage to the ones she hated as possible. She might’ve been able to get out of there and not get caught for a few more days, maybe another week. But this was what she wanted. She wanted to be caught. She wanted to be killed so she wouldn’t have to deal with life without her brother anymore. She had been so dependant on him that she didn’t know how to function without him. Maybe that was why Skye hated Sapphire so much. She was her biggest mistake. James was probably mad that he didn’t have his best sniper for seven months while the baby bump was there, but an abortion would put them back on the grid, at least the slightest bit, and give the government a DNA sample. This way, the only DNA was under a different name, and it hadn’t made any difference. 

 

Sapphire’s thoughts started to float away from her at the end. Skye gave her one more shot of cocaine, cementing the ruin her near future would suffer, and rushed body-builder out. Not thirty seconds after he left, John, Lestrade and almost the entire of the NSY busted through the door. Skye pulled a gun out of the back of her pants, but she was dead before her hand reached the holster. 

 

John was there a half second after taking the shot, untying Sapphire and catching her when she slumped forward. The yard was already dispersing, calling up ambulances and grumbling about paperwork, some of them inviting others for a beer. 

 

But all Sapphire could hear or see was John, who actually came, who actually spent the time needed to find her instead of sit around making Sherlock eat. He went with her in the ambulance, to the hospital. She hadn’t eaten in three days…...maybe a week. She didn’t know. The only water she had really gotten was a half glass a day and whenever they woke her up (every day with ice cold water). So she was freezing and wet too. 

 

She had multiple broken bones from when body-builder had punched her, at Skye’s command, and bruises. Skye must have been really upset or something, because she had a lot of rage to work out and used Sapphire as a punching bag.

 

Not to mention having to detox. There was no way she was going to be on cocaine for much longer, not with how often she was with Sherlock and John, especially with Mycroft and Lestrade too. 

 

She didn’t want to be on cocaine either, never had. She knew the ill effects and repercussions. But the choice had been taken out of her hands as soon as her mother sunk down the first plunger with the needle in her arm. 

 

Sapphire fell asleep after the first five minutes laying down on the gurney, wet shirt and pants peeled off and blanket draped over her, it was the most comfortable she had been in over a week. 

 

**\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

[Sherlock’s POV]

 

Sherlock and Mycroft met John and Greg at St. Barts. The place still dredged up bad memories, but it was the closest hospital and he didn’t really care right then. John was in the operating room, being Sapphire’s legal doctor and wanting to make sure everything was done right, even if it was just the simple stuff. 

 

She came out less than an hour later, two casts, one on her right arm and left leg. The bruises still covered her showing skin, but she looked comfortable. In a dry hospital gown and under two blankets, the hospital one plus one from her room, it was her room now, Mycroft had people taking John’s stuff out and replacing it with hers from the subway. 

 

She didn’t wake up for hours, but John and Sherlock were there the whole time. The detective knew how hard it could be to detox, and he would be there for that, too. Sapphire was probably thinking it would be easy to detox, that she would just….not do it anymore. She hadn’t wanted to before, so why now? 

 

She didn’t understand now, just how hard it was. You couldn’t unless you had already done it or were doing it then. But it was like not scratching an itch, just annoying until you do it. But it would be so much worse, from sweats, nightmares, even depression. Sherlock wouldn’t leave his -now adopted- daughter to deal with that on her own. 

 

She was his and John’s daughter, legally. John and Sherlock had already viewed her as such for a while, and she probably had too, judging by her actions in and around them. 

  
So Sherlock sat waiting for his daughter to wake, worrying about the near future, dreaming about the distant, when the first of their problems arrived and the machines started to go off. 


	22. Sticks And Stones

[Sherlock’s POV]

 

Sherlock knew withdrawal. He been through it enough to the point where he could tell the signs and usually even what someone was on just by looking, but he would probably be able to do that even if he hadn’t lived through it. But since he had, and he knew just how unpleasant it was, he would do anything he could to make it the easiest on Sapphire. 

 

The alarms were sounding, John had gotten up to take her vitals as soon as the first beep went off, and Sherlock was standing there. He knew what was happening, what was going to happen. He knew that the girl in question was going through a drug-and-trauma-induced nightmare, much like the one she had on the first night at 221B. He knew that any second a few nurses would file in and do what they were obligated to. He knew how to fix it, how to fix any nightmare Sapphire had, but he didn’t know what to do. 

 

John. John knew how to deal with Sapphire too. Sherlock didn’t have his violin, but he did have Mozart and Bach on his phone. The detective and his doctor made eye contact, agreeing to a plan and working on it ASAP. 

 

John gently woke the girl, nudging her and speaking softly, while Sherlock started to play the music. The blogger waved off the nurses when they arrived. Sapphire woke up not thirty seconds later, immediately latching onto John, hugging him close like he was her only lifeline. The entire time she was whispering in his ear, whispering things like ‘you came’ and ‘thank you’. Had she really thought they weren’t looking for her in the past 5 days? Then again, how long did she think it had been? And cocaine made you believe things much more easily, so it wasn’t really all that surprising she had thought Skye had been telling her the truth. 

 

Once his daughter was calmed down, he turned off the music, drawing attention to himself and their surroundings. Sapphire’s face had lit up when she saw the detective, but then she frowned when she looked around. 

 

“I don’t need a hospital.” Was the first clear-minded thing she said.

 

Sherlock finally stood from his chair, mouth set in a small frown as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Yes, you do. I have been in your situation, and trust me, it’s a lot easier and more helpful if you just let the nurses do their job. Or you can do what I usually do and annoy all the nurses until only John is left to care for me.”

 

“Is that why you do that?”

 

“I trust you and I love you, but I think we might have something to show little miss Sapphire here, huh?” Sherlock said as he bent down to his bag, pulling out the documents as John turned on a soft light and sat down on Sapphire’s other side. 

 

“What? What do you have to show me?” The girl in question asked, just before the papers were put on her lap. “What? You guys…..adopted me? Why would you do that?”

 

“Because we wanted to. You can still have your little subway thing, as long as it doesn’t go toxic, the money Sherlock gives you can now be considered allowance, and you get to stay at Baker Street 24/7. You can even help us on cases, just don’t get yourself killed by using yourself as bait or actually join us on the chase.”

 

“But-”

 

“I know that’s the fun part but if John will be stitching anyone up at the end of the day it will be me.” Sherlock said with an air of finality. 

 

Sapphire looked over the papers on her lap, eyes welling with tears as she saw her last name as Watson-Holmes, Clark being her middle name, she wasn’t quite ready to give up that title. “Thank you.” She said, so much warmth in her voice that Sherlock couldn’t help but respond to the hug she gave him, still being careful of her IV’s.

 

“So when do I get out of here?”

 

“Well,” John took over. “You have some broken bones, at least three. So at least until you can walk, with or without crutches. If you can stay here for, say a week and a half, maybe two weeks, without the symptoms being too harsh, we can go home.”

 

As if everything had come flooding back to her in the span of thirty seconds, Sapphire almost broke down again. “I didn’t want to. I know I’m addicted. I know and now my whole life is ruined. But I didn’t want to. I swear I didn’t, but I couldn’t stop them. I’m sorry.” She trailed off, mumbling apologies into Sherlock’s shoulder. 

 

“Honey, we know you didn’t have a choice. We don’t think any less of you. We are just happy that you’re back here with us, that you’re safe.” 

  
That was how the rest of their lives began. Sapphire was a bit depressed when she first got home, fighting the cravings as hard as she could, even if a few pleas snuck through. She didn’t talk much or smile until about two months after she got home. To the outside world, those two weeks in the hospital looked like any junkie who tried to quit. But to them, it was just another fact of life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was it. I am a bit dubious to do an epilogue, but if you guys want one I'll be happy to do one. Please please please tell me in the comments, and I will get on that.


End file.
